


After Story

by kayeherl



Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Angst and Porn, But I need them, But it was supposed to be, I know everyone hates them, I swear, I'm Sorry, It's not a oneshot, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Romance, There's OC's, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeherl/pseuds/kayeherl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the movie Captain Harlock, Space Pirate, what happens to the crew?  What happens to Yama and and Harlock when they start to have those pesky little things called feelings for each other? What will happen when two stubborn, closed off men who have both lost much try to do the mating dance? Rated explicit for a reason, don't read if you don't like smutty goodness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I just found this amazing thing called Space Pirate: Harlock and of course, I had to ship Yama and Harlock desperately hard. This is the result: something that’s basically porn with plot. Don’t hate me, but I just. Have. To. Write. It! I absolutely love the idea of Harlock and the cross between like Star Trek and freaking Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s like a dream come true for me! *watches compulsively in every spare moment*  
> Anywho, please leave a review so that I can hear your take on my attempt at making this work. This will most likely be a one shot, maybe a two chapter thing at most. (I seriously need to come up with something that will be more than seven or so chapters!) And it’s rated explicit for a reason. Don’t like a little male on male action, please kindly leave now because this will be hella offensive for you.  
> Without further ado, enjoy!  
> Oh, yeah, disclaimer. Nothing belongs to me except the fangirling that I get over these two, and even then, I’m not sure that that belongs to me either… maybe my crazy twin.

Three or so Months after the End of the Movie

 

“Fall back!” The shout was hoarse but recognizable in and amongst the sound of explosives and gunfire that was overshadowed by the loud, resounding boom of the cannons on the outside of the ship that fired repeatedly. Yama glanced up momentarily, searching for the location of that voice. He was still used to having both of his eyes fully functional, and the limited range of vision he got in his right eye unnerved him still, sometimes.

After much neck craning, he found Harlock standing atop a chair, rapier drawn and poised to shoot lasers at whoever dares to get within five feet of him. He looks nearly mad with bloodlust, lips curled back away from his teeth and half of his face—his entire upper body, to be precise—splattered with blood. His hair is thrown back from his face, displaying the full savagery that had been inflicted upon his right eye a century ago. He looked like some sort of god sent from the heavens to exact justice on unsuspecting humans, and Yama swallowed back a strange emotion he couldn’t quite place past his own bloodlust.

“Retreat to the _Arcadia,”_ Harlock continued, leaping nimbly from his vantage point and swinging his sword in a wide arc. In his other hand, he cradled a gun and he fired it into the oncoming troops that rushed them. “That’s an order!”

They hadn’t realized the sheer number of soldiers of the Gaia Coalition had been aboard when they had attacked the _Queen Anne,_ and they were paying the price dearly. Yama had a deep stab wound that hindered his ability to lift his left leg completely, and he had to resort to dragging it behind him as he hurried over to where Kei was shooting a bunch of soldiers. At least it had missed his femoral artery; he’d be dead now if that was the case, but it was damn close enough for him to feel a little bit of that mortality soldiers tended to gain on the battlefield.

Kei glanced at him briefly, and the two fell into a kind of formation that provided each other protection and managed to work well enough together to not get in each other’s way. When they weren’t fighting, Kei and Yama were still far from friends, but it was moments like this that drew them close enough to work like a well-oiled machine.

Yulian launched himself from a platform about fifteen feet above the two, shouting something incomprehensible in complete and utter glee as he trigger happily shot down a great majority of the soldiers that stood in the way of the four soldiers getting to the door in which they had entered from their ship. Kei let out a shout and motioned for Yama to follow her. He complied after gunning down yet another enemy and dodging a few bullets. As he turned to go, a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he instantly lifted his gun to face this new threat that was clad in the white of guards, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. He heard the gun fire separately from any other shot that resounded in the creaking and groaning ship as it threatened to buckle under the harsh ministrations the _Arcadia_ was handing it every few heartbeats in the form of cannon fire, and the felt the sting of the bullet enter his arm and bury deep within his flesh.

Yama couldn’t even help the sound of pain that was dragged roughly from his throat, grating all the way up until it resolved itself into a scream of pain that he bit down on halfway through. To do that took every bit of self-control Yama possessed, for the pain made him feel as if he could scream for days. The ship shifted suddenly, going sideways, and Yama grasped outwards for something, anything—his forearm was grasped by a cool, hard something that was too soft to be anything but flesh.

Gasping, Yama caught the gleam of leather and a cross-and-skull insignia etched onto a belt buckle, and then he was hitting Harlock’s chest. Time slowed to a comically slow pace as Yama drew in a sharp breath and caught scent of Harlock; spicy and wild mixed with the tang of blood. Something completely forbidden—appealing. The pain ripped through his arm once more and he was distracted by that momentarily as his head came to a standstill over Harlock’s heart. He heard the hammering of it just before his vision flickered and faded, leaving him feeling as if he were falling.

The next time he opened his eyes the ceiling was moving above him. Yama couldn’t place the gentle rocking motion that accompanied the celling for a few moments because it had been so long since he had felt it. Carried. He was being carried. Nostalgia numbed the pain in his shoulder for a few heartbeats before he was shifted. It jarred his arm, and he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wildly searching for whoever was carrying him.

Scarred face, eye patch, half splattered with blood. That smell. Something must have been wrong with him, because something that mingled with the pain when Harlock jostled him next felt nearly like a zing of pleasure that went straight to his nether regions. He let out a pained noise that wasn’t entirely Harlock’s fault, and the man glanced down at him, his one golden eye glimmering in the darkness like a live coal. “Weak,” he scoffed, one side of his lip curling up in distaste. “You’ll need a higher pain tolerance than this if you’re going to survive for long on my ship, let alone become next captain.”

Yama bit back his response, simply shifted his head so that he couldn’t feel Harlock’s heart beating against his cheek. Whatever this pain had brought on, he couldn’t let it get out of hand or else he would have to think very creatively and quickly to explain his arousal. “You could put me down and I could walk,” he said, but it came out as more of a garbled mess than anything else. Somehow Harlock understood and his smirk widened.

“With that wound you got yourself in the leg? I’m honestly surprised you lasted as long as you did. Dumbass. If that had hit your femoral, you’d be dead.” The scorn wasn’t as apparent in the last sentence. It didn’t contain anything as amiable as worry, but it was much more neutral than the previous sentence had been.

Yama resisted the urge once more to snipe back at Harlock. It wouldn’t do him a bit of good. Harlock always won arguments, anyways. He glanced around, trying to determine what part of the ship they were in. Nothing around them looked familiar, and Yama glanced back up at Harlock once more. His face was an impenetrable mask as per usual. He turned away, not before noticing a scar on Harlock’s chin that he had failed to notice. It captivated him for several moments, realizing that Harlock had been close to getting his throat cut—and had managed to survive.

Yama quickly resumed looking at the ceiling and trying to ignore the feel of Harlock’s arms around him. His left hand supported his shoulders, fingers wrapped loosely around the area above his wound in his arm, and the other folded his legs into a manageable length. His fingers were too close to the hem of his shirt for Yama’s liking. They could easily slip beneath the fabric, and in the strange state he was in, Yama didn’t know how his body would react to that.

“Where are we going?”

“It wouldn’t have killed you to stay passed out a bit longer,” Harlock said, and it was just this side of irritated. Not quite enough for him to actually raise his voice or change his inflection too much, but the words had enough of a bite that it stung. Yama took the not-so-subtle hint and shut up.

A few minutes later, he was set roughly down on his feet. Sure enough, his leg buckled underneath his weight the moment he tried to stand, and Yama resigned himself to leaning heavily against the pirate captain as he opened an unfamiliar door. They shuffled awkwardly into the room and Harlock set Yama down on a flat surface that looked to be some sort of coffee table.

“Stay there,” he instructed, unfastening his customary cloak and draping it over a nearby chair. Without the high collar and loose fabric gathered all around him Yama could see the outline of his collarbones and the definition of his chest and wide shoulders in the much tighter shirt underneath.

Yama closed his eyes and turned away from the sight, unsure of what to make of the strange hollowness in his stomach that erupted from that simple sight. Blood loss. That’s what it was. Blood loss was making him act differently than he would if he was normal.

The sound of metal clanking onto a wooden surface had his eyes flying open again, and this time, he noticed the bed that was tucked away in the corner of this sizeable room and the desk that looked out into space. Was this Harlock’s personal room? Why hadn’t he simply taken Yama to the infirmary? His wounds needed tending, and he would need something for the pain soon. He was starting to feel sick. When Yama glanced over again, he saw Harlock laying his forearm braces on the desk and rolling up his sleeves. The eerie, near absence of light cast his face in deeper shadows then Yama was used to seeing; his face was utterly unreadable. “Take your shirt and pants off, will you?” Harlock asked gruffly. “I will fetch water and cloth, and we can get that stitched up.”

 _Take your shirt and pants off._ It was said in a very different tone in Yama’s mind, and he couldn’t help the shudder that went down his spine. _Snap the fuck out of it,_ he growled at himself, quite tempted to slap himself across the face. Anything to get him to stop thinking like a juvenile teenager driven by hormones. “I’m not sure if I can lift my arm enough to undo the fastenings, Captain,” he said softly, so softly that he half hoped that Harlock hadn’t heard and he could live with this small embarrassment by himself. By the way the pirate captain stiffened, he had indeed heard and was in no way happy about this new development.

He stood with his back to Yama for several seconds, and Yama was beginning to wonder if he was planning to help him or not. Just as he opened his mouth to say something he would most likely regret, Harlock turned around. The grimace on his face was undeniable. “Very well,” Harlock groused. In one swift and graceful movement, he was in front of Yama, propped up on one knee. Before Yama had time to process that much, his fingers were already at Yama’s neck, moving swiftly enough that the first clasp was undone by the time Yama had the presence of mind to react. Yama refrained from flinching back, just barely. His muscles tensed in preparation, but he forced himself to remain in place. He had asked for this, had he not?

He could feel heat radiating off of Harlock at their close proximity, could feel the hot breath brushing alongside his cheek and stirring errant hairs that had escaped from behind his ear. Yama kept his gaze firmly on the window. If he looked at Harlock, got caught in that single eye that somehow conveyed enough emotion for two, he couldn’t be held liable for what actions he took in his pain-drunken state.

The give of the fabric was finally enough that Harlock could slide the material off of his shoulders. The leather creaked and groaned at the foreign movement, and Harlock’s bare fingers slid along the skin of his shoulders, and there was nothing Yama could do to stop the shiver that went through him. He was sure Harlock felt it; sure he would say something along the lines of, ‘Too sensitive to be a pirate.’

He didn’t say a thing; skipped over the wound in Yama’s shoulder and slid the leather all the way off of his torso. Yama lifted his arms out of the fabric and finally got the nerve to look at Harlock. He was looking down at Yama’s arm, watching the blood drip down the muscle, sliding in alongside the defined part and onto his lap. “The bullet went through,” he eventually said, gaze still focused on the wound. “Which makes it less painful for you in the long run.” His eye flicked up, crashing with Yama’s gaze for a millisecond before he stood up. “I trust that you can handle your pants.” Was that a glimmer of amusement in Harlock’s voice?

 _Pants?_ Yama frowned in confusion and then remembered that he had been stabbed in his thigh. The pain had numbed from that wound long ago. He nodded, though Harlock was already disappearing through a door that Yama had overlooked on his first scan of the room. Yama stood unsteadily, feeling the cool air chill his skin. He didn’t like being so exposed in such an unfamiliar place, and taking his pants off would require him to become even more vulnerable and exposed. The thought was enough to send yet another shiver down his spine. Why didn’t Harlock simply send him to the infirmary with the rest of the wounded crewmates?

 _A fine question indeed,_ Yama thought to himself, unbuckling his belt and easing his pants down over his thighs slowly as to not jostle the wound in either his shoulder or leg. He kicked his boots off as he sat back down, shucking his pants off somewhere over beside his shirt. He felt exposed and cold in only his briefs and hoped that Harlock would hurry back so that they could get this over as quickly as possible. 

Not thirty seconds after the thought, said pirate captain appeared once more, clutching bandages, whiskey, a needle, thread and scissors. “You could take me to the infirmary and let them deal with this,” Yama said as Harlock kneeled once more in front of him, spreading the assortment of items out beside him.

Harlock shook his head once as he uncapped the drink and took a swig. He offered it to Yama a moment later. “Drink. It will help the pain.” Yama wrapped his fingers around the bottle of the neck and set his teeth as the liquid burned its way all the way down into his stomach. He took a second, longer drink and then handed the bottle back to Harlock, wiping one hand across his mouth. Harlock took one more drink as well before splashing a good deal of the bottle onto a bandage he had folded up while Yama had drank.

Yama gritted his teeth as Harlock gently swiped the cloth alongside the wound, not quite touching it. The alcohol seeped into the hole in his arm and it burned as if the bullet was once again ripping through his flesh.

Yama hissed out a breath and fisted his free hand against the table, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything to help steady him into staying still enough for Harlock to clean his wound. There was nothing except—his fingers crawled up Harlock’s arm, gripping at the fabric he had so meticulously rolled up only minutes ago and yanking at it. Harlock didn’t do anything to him for it, surprisingly, simply endured the rough treatment of his shirt without even glancing over to make sure that Yama wasn’t tearing the fabric.

After the initial burn of the alcohol, the rest wasn’t as bad. The wound gradually numbed into a pounding mess of raw nerves that hardly reacted to the burn of the alcohol, and Yama let go of Harlock’s shirt, grunting out a quick apology. Harlock didn’t acknowledge it, simply threaded the needle and began sewing Yama’s arm up.

It was dead silent the entire time past the slow, even breaths of Harlock and the harsher, quicker ones of Yama. Yama refused to let out a single sound of pain past his initial hiss, clenching his jaw and digging his fingers into his own thigh, fisting the thin fabric of his briefs to resist reaching out to Harlock again.

The soft brush of hair against his arm surprised Yama amongst all of the pain. Who had known that Harlock’s hair was so soft? It felt like feathers against his shoulder, slipping over his collarbone and teasing the sensitive hollow just beneath. He glanced down to see Harlock snapping the thread with his teeth and felt his heart skip a beat. The hair slid along his skin once more as he drew back. “Lie down,” Harlock said curtly after a moment. “I don’t want to do your leg sitting up.” He shifted back to allow Yama to lie down. Yama tested his arm as he swung his legs up onto the table with some difficulty. The thread pulled, but not painfully so. At least it kept his skin together.

“Why won’t you take me to the infirmary?” Yama asked in an attempt to distract himself from the fact that Harlock was now leaning over his thigh and that temptingly soft hair was only inches away from tickling his hip, and it would spill across his stomach if Harlock rested his lips against Yama’s hip.

“Doc’s already booked up with everyone else. I can’t have my future captain bleeding out on the floor of the infirmary, now can I?” Harlock grunted, spilling more whiskey onto a clean strip of bandage. The man was efficient, if nothing else, folding bandages while he instructed Yama to do something else. _Oh, but he is so much more than just efficient,_ the voice in the back of Yama’s mind whispered to him. He clamped a firm muffler down on it and ignored what it had just told him. He needed to get a handle on this… whatever it was that he was feeling and dispose of it. He couldn’t work with Harlock if he constantly was thinking about the consistency of his hair as it spilled against his naked hip.

“I wouldn’t have bled out,” Yama said, a beat too late for it to go well with the flow of normal conversation. Damn his mind for going off to places it shouldn’t. He had never even thought about a man before in the sense he was currently thinking about Harlock. _Nami, remember Nami._ That was becoming harder and harder to do, however, the longer he remained barely dressed

Harlock’s eye slid up to his, and the brow raised eloquently. It was doing strange things to his body, seeing Harlock’s face so close to him and so far down at the same time. “Unlike me, you aren’t immortal. It would have been quite possible. While this cut hasn’t nicked your femoral, it got close enough for it to bleed quite a bit.”

Yama shrugged and winced as his arm twanged, and then considered his response. He could “Thank you for being willing to—

“I’m not doing this for you,” Harlock interrupted, choosing that moment to effectively cut off any further speech by pressing the alcohol-soaked bandage to Yama’s thigh. Past the sudden burn, Yama couldn’t help but feel the hard press of Harlock’s fingers nearly against his skin. Bandages were thin enough for him to trick himself into thinking that it was simply Harlock’s skin against his. “I’m doing it for the good of the _Arcadia_ and her crew. You are crucial to my command now, and I cannot have you out of sorts for any kind of thing; even something as trivial as a stab and bullet wound.” He moved the cloth, cleaning the rest of the tacky, half-dried blood away from the wound and Yama could breathe again.

“I understand, Captain,” he said softly a moment later. “Still, thank you.”

He glanced down the length of his body once more—after throwing his head back to attempt to escape the agony—to gauge Harlock’s reaction. Harlock nods his head once more, a quick jerk that swipes the ends of that hair against Yama’s thigh, dipping into the space between, and Yama had to bite back the gasp that would have sounded the furthest from pain as a gasp can get hard enough to draw blood along his lip. It dripped down his chin. It was worth the price of Harlock staying bent over Yama’s leg, however.

This stitching didn’t seem as bad. He wasn’t delirious with pain anymore; the alcohol has gone straight to his mind and clouded his pain receptors as much as a few swigs was able to accomplish, and now he could only feel the press of Harlock’s fingers against his thigh, too close to his cock for him to really be able to think straight. If only he would move over and up just a few inches, his fingers would be resting on the length of him, and damn, if Yama didn’t want that in this moment that seemed so disjointed from everything else.

Fuck rationality. Fuck his attempt to keep whatever this was at bay. It wasn’t working, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving here without popping an awkward boner that would be incredibly hard to explain. As Harlock bent over once more to snap the thread, his hair spilled across Yama’s lap and he felt the hot breath of air, so close to his cock that this time the sound escaped without Yama trying to contain it. He clamped his teeth down on the sound, but it had already met the air and Harlock’s ears.

The Captain raised his head ever so slightly, that damnably beautiful hair obscuring his face quite efficiently and he simply hung there for a moment, breath caressing Yama’s leg and other parts that were stirring to life despite his attempts to keep his reaction under his control. “Did I hurt you, Yama?” Harlock asked, his voice low, soft and dangerous.

Yama drew in a sharp breath at the tone, and finally Harlock’s head shifted, displaying his single, glimmering eye. It burned with something undiscernible, something that Yama’s body instantly reacted to. He felt as if he were on fire, and for a moment he wondered if he was hallucinating. “N-no,” he stuttered out, hoping that Harlock wouldn’t look down, because he would surely see Yama’s length pressed against the thin fabric of his briefs. “You didn’t hurt me,” he added a moment later. Might as well go the entire way if he was jumping into this chasm.

He expected Harlock to stand and distance himself, for that glimmer to die back into a nothingness and for himself to be ordered away, somewhere else, far away from Harlock. He braced himself to move, but didn’t quite yet because if he tried to, Harlock would get a face-full of half-hard, cloth covered cock.

What he didn’t expect was for Harlock to drag his hair along his thigh once again. He shivered and couldn’t help the way his body jerked upwards, as if he could get more of that sensation simply by pressing upwards. Harlock’s lips twitched, and before Yama could fully comprehend what that almost-smile meant, Harlock had dragged his hair all the way up his side, strands sliding over his uninjured arm like silk and then their breaths were mingling.

“You’re bleeding,” Harlock murmured. It wasn’t his usual gruff tone, and it wasn’t the shout of command that Yama heard much too often. It was soft, almost intimate in nature, and it sent a shiver up and down Yama’s spine like an electrical current that couldn’t decide which outlet to go to. Yama opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a single syllable out, Harlock tilted his head slightly to the side, exposing his scarred cheek and the gleam of the leather eye patch and then his lips were against Yama’s.

No, not his lips. His tongue had snaked out and dipped into the blood that had pooled around Yama’s chin. Harlock lapped at his lips like a cat, sending little electric shocks that went straight to Yama’s groin with each stroke of his tongue. “Did you get that when I was leaned over you?” Harlock asked, and something about having his voice oh-so-close to Yama’s ear felt forbidden and utterly thrilling.

“You-your hair,” Yama said, not really understanding what he was saying himself. “It’s so soft.” A blathering idiot, that’s what he was. Harlock pulled back, the most peculiar expression on his face as he glanced at Yama, his one eye nearly brimming with amusement. Then, the left side of his lip quirked up and he dipped back down again, sliding his lips alongside Yama’s and tantalizing him for several moments before they slanted across his.

Yama stopped breathing for several good, long seconds as his heart also stuttered and stopped. It picked back up double time, pounding violently against his rib cage, and Yama felt his lungs expand and he was moving his lips against Harlock’s.

It was divine, something that shouldn’t be allowed to feel so absolutely and resolutely _right._ Harlock’s lips were surprisingly soft, nipping gently at Yama’s as if he was the one awaiting rejection. Yama couldn’t help the soft sound that slipped out from between his lips as he raised his head, mashing their lips almost painfully together. Harlock tasted of whiskey and blood and danger and it was the most addictive taste all mingled together in the heady rush. Something about the entire thing felt forbidden; dark and heady, like the first time Yama had drank alcohol; before it was allowed for him to do so. That greatly paled in comparison—however—to this tornado filled with conflicting emotions.

Now it was Harlock’s turn to let out a sound that sounded akin to a growl and was laced with desire so potent that it practically sang in the air like a second voice. Harlock drew back ever-so-slightly, their lips breaking apart in the cruelest way possible and Yama gasped at the loss.

He didn’t have time to complain. Harlock had drawn back and launched himself into the air, twisting as if he could defy the very laws of physics and then his feet were on either side of Yama’s, slamming into the hard wood with an amount of grace that Yama had only seen once: when Harlock had rescued him from falling into the geyser. He knew that it was constantly present; in the way Harlock walked and his quick reflexes to anything, but it was a breathtaking display that Yama hardly had time to appreciate before Harlock was sliding to his knees and pressing himself fully against Yama.

It was then that Yama could feel that the pirate captain was equally as hard as he was, and he hissed out a breath of pleasure pain as their hips came into contact and the wound on his thigh was jarred.

Harlock captured Yama’s lips once more, before he could even ride the pain out, grunting something unintelligible before yanking Yama’s head up so that he could access his lips better. Yama’s hands reached up and buried themselves in Harlock’s hair before he could stop them, and he shuddered against Harlock’s body, rubbing his erection against Harlock’s and eliciting another animalistic sound from the pirate captain. The fact that he was allowed to touch, to run his fingers through Harlock’s hair was an almost orgasmic experience in and of itself.

He pulled his fingers through Harlock’s hair, struggling past the tangles that wrapped around them and then slid his fingers in the space that Harlock was keeping between their chests. Clad in only his shirt, and without the layers of cloak and jacket, it was easy to feel the heavy shifting muscles that made up Harlock’s formidable form, and it was just as easy to feel the way his body reacted to Yama’s fingers. How long had it been since Harlock had gotten laid?

There was a moment, a lull in which Harlock drew back, arching his neck back and allowed Yama to slip a hand inside his shirt. Harlock’s heart pounded against his hand as if it were trying to escape the cage of his ribs. Yama took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something. Harlock, however, had other ideas.

Harlock ground his hips into Yama’s causing sparks of utter bliss to explode in front of his eyes. He hissed out a string of curses, thrusting back up, partially to get more friction, and partially to avoid being crushed into the table. Harlock’s power was undeniable; he was much stronger than Yama would ever be, and it showed.

“Gods above,” Harlock breathed, as if that was the only comprehensible thing that came to mind when he opened his mouth. “Yama.” He looked down, hair framing his single eye and Yama felt a zing of fire go through him at the sound of his name and the way Harlock’s eye was shining, no, burning. It was burning with desire that was interlaced and completely muddled with lust, the two turning the usually dulled color a bright, new color that was nearly hypnotizing.

“Harlock,” Yama murmured back before he could even comprehend that he had always called him ‘Captain.’ It felt like falling into a void, one that was crested in pleasure and danger.

(AN: Random POV shift, sorry I was getting so tired of writing Yama. I wanna write about what happens in Harlock’s dirty, dirty mind in the middle of this, and it just seemed like the right time.)

Harlock froze as well, his hips lifting above Yama’s at the crest of one of the many thrusts that he was administering to Yama’s. The out of place word reminded him exactly who he was grinding against, and that he had probably just torn all of the hard work he had spent the last few minutes executing.

And of how young Yama was, a mere fifth of his own ancient age. How unexperienced and naïve he was of the universe. He’d probably never even been with a man before. Cursing inwardly, Harlock debated pulling back. Yama was still underneath him, breathing ragged and sharp as if he had just run across the ship from bow to stern and back again. His hair was a mess around his face, and the dull, not-quite-light caught the ugly scarring on his cheek and half filmed-over right eye. Lips half-parted, bruised and torn in places that they hadn’t been torn before he had laid his lips upon Yama’s. Had Harlock truly kissed the man that forcefully? His good eye was gleaming, golden-green and oddly otherworldly. They beckoned him to return, to keep kissing until it turned into something else, begged him to relieve him of the same pleasure-pain that was pounding through his entire body, concentrated like a fire in his groin. He could feel his cock straining against his pants, begging to get free and bury itself balls-deep into Yama.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought and swooped back down and capturing Yama’s lips once more. The younger man groaned in appreciation, hips bucking up once more to meet Harlock’s. “Fuck,” Harlock grunted out as he felt Yama’s almost painfully hard prick pressing flush against his thigh. It was unbelievably hot, both physically and sexually and Harlock realized that the strange, animalistic sounds were issuing from his own throat and not Yama’s.

Yama was the one who was making the most unbelievably dirty gasps as he turned his head to the side. Harlock realized that he was nearing completion and moved his lips down the unscarred skin of Yama’s neck. He was glad that there wasn’t the hindrance of fabric as he nipped along Yama’s collarbone, feeling the way the younger man shuddered against him, alternately drawing back and pushing himself flush against Harlock’s chest.

His hips began to stutter and move erratically, and Harlock felt his own pleasure reach a point of almost painful perfection. He pulled himself back, not wanting to create such a sticky mess in his favorite pair of pants. Yama made a sound of exquisite torture that did things to Harlock’s mind that made him second-guess his decision to pull back at the last moment. It’s his name, however, that made Harlock regret his obsession with cleanliness. “Harlock.” It was a benediction, beyond that, as if Yama was worshiping the very skin that Harlock wore, the very essence of his being.

His hands reach up as he says this, almost touching Harlock’s face, but not quite. Fingers ghosted along his cheeks, down his chin, and the look on his face was almost too priceless to name. Harlock shuddered, the desire nearly taking him over as he lowered his face towards Yama’s hands, wanting to feel the flesh against flesh. For some strange reason, this was the most intimate moment of the entire ordeal, ever since he had begun licking at the blood that dripped down Yama’s face. Something that Harlock thought was broken inside of him; something that had been broken long ago suddenly snapped awake, and he felt as if his heart had just exploded with the sheer emotion that had trickled in from the cracked armor he kept firmly around his heart and his ability to feel.

Harlock was scared. A hundred years had given him ample time to have his heart broken time and time again. He had eventually stopped caring, and he couldn’t start, not now. Yama was mortal, just like everyone else and he would eventually fade and die.

He drew back abruptly and hoisted himself off of the table. He couldn’t allow this to happen. He turned away from Yama before the younger man could witness the look of sheer pain on his face. He knew nothing of this kind of pain.

“C-captain?” Yama asked, confusion clouding the left-over desire in his voice.

“Leave,” Harlock said, forcing his voice into nothingness. A deep, unreachable chasm. “Now.”

There was silence, and Harlock felt a flare of irritation at Yama’s insubordinate—but then he was his equal, was he not?—but a moment later, he heard the slide of flesh against the table. There was the creak of leather and the rustle of fabric and then Yama left.

Harlock held back the tears until the door closed softly behind him. It would have been easier if he had slammed it, had screamed at him, but Yama wasn’t that type of man. He held his heart close to him much like Harlock did. He would stay silent even if the pain killed him inside, tortured him to the point of insanity, and turned him into something dead and hollow. Like Harlock.

Harlock’s knees gave out from underneath him suddenly. His gaze was on the stars as they passed by them, planets blurring before his eye and spinning with the warmth on his cheek. Every ounce of lust was gone, blasted away by the stark reality of Harlock’s inability to love, inability to consider someone normally.

Was he doomed to remain half a man for the entirety of his life? The thought made other things that Harlock had thought were long dead stir. For the first time since he had been cursed with this damn ship, Harlock felt a spark of fear shoot through him like an electrical bolt.

 

00800


	2. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So basically, there's a blowjob and much angst and Yama getting drunk and fighting in a bar. Yep. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovelies! I’ll try to make this one longer, so please bear (or is it bare? Wow its way too late for me to be writing and using proper grammar) with me as I try to figure out how I’m going to turn this original one-shot into a two-shot or whatever the hell it is now.   
> I am dedicating this chapter to Warfang, who has given me the loveliest review that has really helped a lot for this chapter. And the next one, probably, too. Thank you very much, Warfang! I read through your review about ten times and even took a bunch of notes from it because you put some very juicy plot points in there that I just had to adapt into my original plot. I bow down to you as the master of reviewing and giving me ideas!  
> Thank you everyone else for the comments and reviews as well, it makes me happy to see that you’re enjoying this and please let me know what you think of this chapter!  
> Anywho, please please please review and most of all, enjoy!! XD see you on the other side!

The _Arcadia_ groaned to a standstill, just scant inches away from running into the docking platform. Aboard the ship, the crew braced themselves for the impact, relaxing as it didn’t come a few moments after the ship had stopped moving. They stood there for several moments, none of them that eager to leave their one and only refuge. They had been on this ship for three months, focused only on getting as far from the Gaia Coalition as possible as quickly as possible; and still their enemies found them. None were comfortable anywhere but the ship, and preformed best when shooting around corners that they knew like the backs of their hands.

Going onto the Third Planet in the Aurgia constellation was a risk that they were only willing to take by necessity. It had been debated over for almost an hour by the crew members before their last run-in with the Coalition. Afterwards, they were even more hesitant, but there was no way around it: they needed supplies. Without any ships around to plunder—save the battleships that had scant supplies— they would have to make a stop on a planet and make do there.

Captain Harlock glanced around at his crewmates as they all held their breaths and waited for him to say something. They probably expected something motivational that would get them going; even though by now they should have understood that Harlock simply didn’t do that kind of thing.

“Move out,” he said, signaling towards the hanger deck. They could have taken the planet’s elevator system that would drop them from space into the atmosphere, but that would leave them without a quick getaway. Thus, they would take a small fleet of explorer ships down and land them in various locations that were far away from civilization. That way, if they needed to get out quickly, they could simply make their way to the small ships that were on the surface and make it quickly back to the _Arcadia_ and get out of there before anyone on the elevator system could get to the docking area. “Kei, take Yulian, Maji and Zero with you,” he added. “I’ll take Yama, Miime and Miss Masu.”

He managed to keep the wince out of his posture as he said this. He had to take Yama with him, however, because even Yulian had started to notice that Yama and Harlock were avoiding each other. This should set their minds to rest and get them to lay off of his case. “Yes, sir,” Kei said, dipping her head in a respectful nod. “Sir,” she added as Harlock turned. “Where is the fresh meat?”

Harlock forced his foot to take the next few steps so that his stride would remain even, though he also considered whipping around and glaring at Kei. He resolved to do the former after realizing that the latter would only bring about more suspicion and more questions he had no desire to answer. He had noticed Yama’s absence, just as he had the last few days, with an awareness that bordered on painful. “If he’s not here when we leave, he’ll have to find his own way down.”

“Sir,” Kei repeated, and he heard the light patter of her footsteps, followed by Yulian and the others’ footsteps. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. Yama had hardly been seen these past few days since…

“For fuck’s sake,” Harlock muttered and continued walking, faster now in an attempt to try to escape his own thoughts. It was the kid’s own damn problem if he was going to act like a moody teenager about the ordeal. He wouldn’t let it affect him at all. However, if Yama moped around much longer, Harlock couldn’t blame it on his wounds. He needed to get over it pretty quickly if the crew was to continue operating like a well-oiled machine.

It surprised and astounded Harlock off that he had come to depend on Yama so much in the last few months. Despite his inexperience, the kid had a good head on his shoulders and could figure things out fairly quickly; sometimes even more quickly than Harlock himself. He was good in high-stress situations such as raids and escaping the Coalition. On the flip side, his temper was on a short fuse and his mind was easily changeable based on the rapidity in which he took in facts and processed them. He went with his gut feeling without considering alternatives first and foremost, and often didn’t change his mind. While that was good on the battlefield, it wouldn’t make him the kind of captain that the _Arcadia_ needed.

Dammit, here he went thinking about him again. His mind had gone in a million different directions over these last few days that all ended up in the same place: Yama. Yama’s body, the way it felt when it was pressed against his, the way his hips had felt different than any woman’s: bony, and sharp, and just enough pain to make it interesting, his lips ravishing Harlock’s. The small sounds that came out of his lips almost against his will, as if he felt as if he had to hold them back. How good that unmarked and nearly naked skin had looked, drenched in the almost-darkness that always lit Harlock’s chambers.

The way Harlock’s body responded as it hadn’t in years.

It was the most irritating distraction that had happened to him in a few decades. Harlock couldn’t fucking concentrate; there was no other way to say it. His mind kept wandering back to the emotions that had been running through his mind at the time that he was undressing Yama. He couldn’t have denied the small spark of interest that had lit his groin as he had beheld the smooth flesh that was almost muscled enough to be called strong.

He wouldn’t have taken it anywhere if the damn kid hadn’t made such amazingly dirty noises when Harlock’s head had been so close to that pulsing, pounding heat of Yama’s prick or said anything about his hair.

Harlock glanced up and noted that he was most definitely not headed to the hanger deck. No, his feet had taken him where his mind was, and Yama’s door was only a few steps down the hall. Harlock scoffed and nearly turned around before pausing.

_Ah, what the hell_. Harlock covered the ground that stretched between him and the newest crewmember of the _Arcadia_ and raised his hand to knock on the door.

He couldn’t make his knuckles touch. He got within a few millimeters, and then stopped. He told himself to stop being such a child and get it over with, but even the mentally growled command did nothing to help him finish the movement. He had been through countless battles, had killed hundreds of men, had stolen enough money to last a few lifetimes, and yet he couldn’t knock on a damn door.

Harlock was a coward; that’s what he was. He couldn’t face this man-boy, this inexperienced almost child who clearly had no clue what to do about hearts and those extremely annoying things called feelings. He had loved one girl through his entire, brief existence in this universe and now that she was gone, he had nothing. His heart was empty, and he didn’t know what to do.

Harlock knew all about that emptiness. Perhaps that was what made him hesitate. No, not that, it was what had drawn him to Yama in the first place.

What, then, was it that was making him hesitate? It was a simple thing. He would simply knock on the door, wait for the young man to answer it and curtly tell him to get his ass down to the Hanger Deck.

Was it because he didn’t want to see the look in Yama’s eye? Or was it because he didn’t want Yama to see the look in his?

_Damn it all to hell_. Harlock Punched his fist harshly against the metal, hearing it resound through the corridor and then quickly repeated the action before he could flee down to the Hanger. He hated the fact that he held his breath as he waited for Yama to answer the door. He hated the fact that his hand shook as he lowered it to his side, but he couldn’t find another thing to hate before the door opened.

00800

Yama paced his room once, twice, thrice, four times, and then stopped as he realized that he had been doing the exact same thing for the past few hours. He had slept late into the day and had tried to keep the memories at bay for as long as he could. It had lasted all of half an hour before he ran his hand along his face and his fingers had caught on his lips and he had been reminded of the pressure of Harlock’s lips.

He hadn’t been able to close his eyes after that.

Yama had spent as much time in his room as he could without the others coming to check on him. He came out at least twice a day between meals just to make a customary appearance and stay in Harlock’s presence as long as he could without staring openly at him.

The Captain of the _Arcadia_ had somehow become like the sun. Ever since he had left Harlock’s quarters after the abrupt dismissal, Yama’s mind could be occupied by hardly anything else. He had tried to distract himself with the grief that he was still processing; the pain of losing everyone he had ever cared for in a few hours, the shock of being in a new place and knowing no one and knowing them too well all the same; namely one captain.

The ghost of Harlock’s fingers sliding over his bare skin was almost torturous. He craved it like a drug, and being physically close to Harlock only made him want it that much more. Thus the time that he spent in his room.

He knew that it couldn’t last forever, but he tried to hide as long as he could.

Yama had already packed and unpacked his bags three times. Once right after returning to his room and deciding that the incident that had transpired between him and Harlock would make it impossible to keep a professional relationship and then unpacking them when he realized that he had nowhere else to go. The second time had been right after he had spent a torturous hour standing beside Harlock at the helm of the ship. The urge to reach out and run a finger of his gloved hand over Harlock’s as it rested on the wheel that steered the ship had been nearly unstoppable, but the cool look in Harlock’s eye had been more than enough to keep him from even trying. For the first time in three months, he had the urge to leave this ship that he grudgingly called home.

And the third had been just earlier today after he had talked himself into it. _Harlock won’t want to even look at you after what happened. He’ll blame it on you, and he’ll shun you. Or, he’ll act like it never happened, and you will suffer in silent misery, the same kind of misery you suffered in with Nami; seeing her with Ezra day after day and being unable to say a single word. Just wait, when you stop for the next supply run, you’ll be the cargo they leave behind. Best pack and get ready for it._

He had only just managed to reason with himself that if Harlock didn’t want him on the ship, he could have gotten rid of him fairly easily. None of the others would object; he made them question his loyalty not once, but twice. They would be nearly happy to see him go.

Why then, would Harlock bother to keep him on board? Was it because he felt obligated to keep him now that he had accepted him? Yama had nothing to return to, and nowhere to go now that both Ezra and Nami were dead. Perhaps he saw the wandering soul in Yama and felt a sort of kinship.

Whatever his reason, Yama knew that Harlock would most definitely not condone the kind of behavior that he had displayed a few nights ago. He tried to forget that it had happened; for fuck’s sake, it was all that Yama did these days, but he couldn’t—for the life of him—get Harlock’s lips out of his mind. Or his body, or the noises he had made while grinding against Yama.

A sharp rap at his door startled Yama out of the seemingly endless reverie he had been floating in ever since he had been sent out of Harlock’s room. He hoped beyond hope that it was said captain on the other side of the door and held his breath as he closed the distance between the far side of the wall and the heavy metal door in three long strides.

Yama flung the door open and was actually quite shocked to find that it was, indeed, Harlock who was standing outside of his door, looking impenetrable and unreadable as usual. He glared at Yama, not quite down because the two were nearly the same height, but Yama felt as if he were being looked down upon.

“We’ve reached the Third Planet and I need a co-pilot to man the ships that we will take down to the surface. Are you done moping?” Harsh, dry and abrupt, just as always. Harlock’s tone didn’t indicate that anything had happened between them. It alternately relieved Yama—because then he wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness—and scared him because he knew that things of this magnitude couldn’t be forgotten. Not with someone like Harlock, who burned as brightly light a sun and had emotions just as scorching.

“Yes, sir,” Yama said, straightening. They were there already? How long had he been in his room—moping, as Harlock put it?

“Then hurry your ass down to the hanger deck. We leave in ten.”

Harlock didn’t flip his cloak over one shoulder to make a dramatic exit as he usually did. He stood there for one heartbeat—two, three—and then opened his mouth as if to say something. Yama felt his heart clench up at the sudden change in the air, the way it had become hard to breathe and the intensity of Harlock’s eye on his own. He kept his gaze down, unsure of what he would find in the captain’s gaze, but not willing to risk it enough to find out.

They both hesitated, not saying a single word, until Yama finally couldn’t stand the rising tension anymore. Something had to give, and Harlock wouldn’t be the first one to back down. He stepped back and glanced up at Harlock. “Captain,” he began in the most professional tone he could manage.

“Yama, don’t.” This was curt, short. However, Yama could detect a trace amount of… something. What was it? Before he could discern the emotion that barely colored Harlock’s voice, it was gone the next time he spoke. “We have a mission to complete, and I cannot discuss this with you at this time.”

“Will you ever?” Yama asked after chewing on the inside of his cheek and considering how hard Harlock might hit him.

To his surprise, Harlock didn’t immediately shut down and turn away. He simply looked at Yama with a hard, dead look in his gaze. “Whenever you decide that you can handle this as a mature human being.”

Harlock chose that moment to make the dramatic exit that Yama had expected without an exchange of words, flipping his cape over one shoulder and letting it flow out behind him like a river. His boots made low, hard raps on the metal of the floor, each one sounding like a muted bullet. Yama blinked several times before he managed to gather his wits around him enough to actually manage to get himself to function.

Damn it, he really was some sort of stupid, wasn’t he? Of course Harlock wouldn’t _talk_ about it. Harlock wasn’t the type of man to talk about anything, let alone those pesky little feelings. Yama certainly knew the feeling; he hated opening up enough to let anyone know what he was really feeling, but with Harlock it was so easy it was like breathing.

Unfortunately, Harlock was the type of man who would take those feelings and shoot them through with his laser sword. That was why it would be better to simply keep his mouth shut and forget that it ever happened. But Yama was not good at doing things that he should. He never had been, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

Straightening his hair as much as he could, Yama followed Harlock through the ship, though the captain was already out of sight and several corridors ahead of him. He dreaded sitting in an enclosed space with Harlock, though he knew that the pirate captain most likely would have Kei, Yulian and Miime and other crewmates with him. It would distract him enough to not make a complete fool of himself.

The hanger deck arrived much too soon for Yama’s liking. He wanted a few more moments to collect himself before having to act normal around Harlock for the others and mostly for himself, because at least when he was pretending, it was giving him something else to do to stop obsessing over the captain as if he had become his one and only thing to live for.

He hardly knew the man. How could something like this happen so quickly? It would be so easy to blame what had happened on the one-time consumption of alcohol and the delusions of pain. It would be easy to say the words and everything would reassemble to something near normal. Eventually, perhaps Harlock would be able to look Yama in the eye. It would kill him on the inside, but he had done it once before with Nami. He could do it again.

How often had this kind of thing happened to Harlock? Yama wondered this as he searched out the black-cloaked captain. He was already halfway inside this ship and Yama hurried to catch up to him, not wanting to be griped at for dallying.

The ship was small and cramped, nothing like the _Arcadia_ and Yama ducked his head so that he could fit through the opening. Inside, it was eerily quiet compared to the buzz of the crew outside and he paused, listening for the telltale sound of Yulian saying something sarcastic or Kei telling someone to move their ass. Miime rarely talked; only when it was necessary, so he wasn’t surprised to not hear her voice in and amongst what would have been the usual hubbub.  It was silent.

Yama cocked his head to the side as he turned the corner into the cockpit and found it empty except for Harlock, who was switching on controls. He glanced at Yama as he came inside, eye unreadable in the near darkness. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” Harlock said shortly, sitting down without further acknowledging Yama’s presence.

Yama paused as he entered the room and looked around. It was in the cockpit of one of these same machines that he had decided to trust Harlock. It was in this same environment that he had first touched the captain. The memory of putting his fingers over Harlock’s as they pulled the lever down together to get them out of the geyser was almost as vivid as the feel of Harlock’s lips on his. “Hurry up,” Harlock urged, irritation shining through the disinterested tone his voice had taken. “We need to get this over with.”

“Yes, captain,” Yama said, quickly dropping into the seat that was much too close to Harlock for safety. He flipped on the few controls that Harlock had left for him and looked over and nodded to the captain, not quite meeting his eyes as he did so.

Harlock lifted the ship off of the floor of the ship with practiced ease and let it hover for several moments while the door to the _Arcadia_ opened. As they flew out into dead space, it was dead silent except for the occasional beep of a control. Neither dared to say a word as they flew towards the planet’s surface, and the tension managed to stay to a manageable level for quite some time. Yama was finally convinced that perhaps they could go back to some semblance of normal without talking about whatever it was Harlock would tell him if he dared to ask what the space pirate had meant when he had been outside of Yama’s room.

That was, until Harlock’s hand ran along the length of Yama’s as they reached for the same control at the same time.

Yama jerked his hand back and Harlock hissed out an, “Idiot,” before pressing the button for him and pulling his hand back and keeping it firmly on the controller.

Yama swallowed something hot and dangerous, probably words that were better left unspoken and turned to face the approaching planet. He focused his gaze on a shining spot that must have been a satellite or something similar—perhaps a projector such as the one that they had covering Earth’s secret.

It wasn’t distracting enough. Yama could almost choke on the sudden tension that swirled around them and fought to get the previously swallowed words out. “What do I need to do to get you to discuss what transpired between us a few nights ago?”

There. The tension lessened. Yama didn’t dare look over at Harlock, but he could hear the intake of breath and the pause before the words. “Try living another hundred years,” he said dryly. “Then come back and see if you understand me any better.”

Yama pressed his lips together to stop himself from sniping back. He knew that if he kept quiet that Harlock would elaborate.

Sure enough, a few eternally long heartbeats later, “Grow up.” Gruff. Nearly toneless. Still, it did things to Yama’s body that no other person’s voice could.

“Oh?” Now Yama spoke, raising an eyebrow. He could feel the faint stirrings of anger deep in his gut, but he pushed them back, endeavoring to keep his head, because he knew how fast such an explosive emotion like anger could switch to something else that was just as carnal and twice as exciting.

Harlock paused again, and when he spoke, Yama could hear the almost-humor that graced his voice. “Starting by looking at me is a good beginning.”

Yama stuck his teeth together to hold back a growl. So Harlock had noticed how he avoided looking at him as much as he could. “I’m not sure that I could look away,” he finally ground out, however painful it was to admit that. He felt as if he were sticking an arm out underneath an axe, expecting it not to fall and sever his wrist and cause him pain.

The silence was deafening, and Yama’s heart physically stopped for several moments as he awaited Harlock’s verdict. He heard Harlock shift before he spoke, though he didn’t dare to look up to see how the captain had moved. His voice was surprisingly soft when he finally spoke. “Look at me, Yama.”

It took Yama’s heart several more moments to resume beating. That tone was almost the same as when he had said Yama’s name in and amongst the desperate thrusting and building pleasure of three nights ago. He took in a shuddering breath, and his heart kick-started, tapping out an uneven rhythm that was much too fast for good health. He blinked and wondered if he had misheard; snunk a glance at Harlock and found him not only not facing the planet, but leaning towards Yama. His eyes didn’t leave, and he turned his head the rest of the way around, meeting Harlock’s eye.

His face was unreadable, flicking between emotions too quickly for Yama to follow. “There,” he said, and his voice was still that impossibly soft tone that bordered on a sultry purr. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“Incredibly,” Yama responded, trying to inject sarcasm into the four syllables and failing miserably. It sounded breathy and not at all like his voice. Harlock instantly reacted to that, leaning forward further so that their breaths were mingling. All Yama would have to do was lean forward just a bit and his lips would finally taste the flesh he had been dying for over the past three days.

“Shit,” Harlock said flatly, and out of the corner of his eye Yama could see his fingers flying over the controls, setting it on autopilot. If he would have had his senses about him, Yama would have grinned. He had won this round. He was too captivated by watching that beautiful mouth spout such obscenities at the moment to feel any sense of victory. “Son of a bitch. You drive me completely fucking insane.”

Before Yama had the time to reply, Harlock had reached forward into the space that separated them and grabbed Yama by the jacket and dragged him so that they were almost touching; just a hair’s breath away from each other. “You still want to talk?” he breathed, the words a ghost of his lips against Yama’s.

“Fuck no,” Yama replied and dug his fingers into Harlock’s hair, closing the gap between them. As his lips collided with Harlock’s he let out a low keen. Yes, this was the drug that he needed, every moment of every day, the ability to touch Harlock at will and feel his lips against his, feel the pirate captain’s capable fingers moving along his body as they were at the moment, ghosting up to his neck and sliding into the crevice between his shoulders and skull, fingers digging painfully and beautifully into the nape of his neck.

Yama shifted his body so that he was facing Harlock. Their knees collided, but neither broke the kiss to apologize or acknowledge the sudden pain. Harlock simply growled something intelligible and slid his tongue along Yama’s lower lips, asking without words for entrance. Yama didn’t have the willpower to resist lips molding to Harlock’s after a moment and softening. As Harlock’s tongue touched Yama’s, he felt something dark and electric enter his body, reminding him of the spicy smell of Harlock. He smelled different tonight; less like alcohol and blood and more of that dark spicy scent that was nearly like the scent of sex incarnated into man.

Yama drew back when the need to breathe became desperate. For a moment he had believed that he could actually live off of Harlock’s lips alone; that and the way his tongue stroked against his, sending little electrical shivers down his body with each touch.

Harlock stayed close to Yama, nose skimming along his jawline as he took deep breaths. Yama could feel the hot puffs of air against his neck, feel Harlock’s pulse race beneath his jaw as his fingers skimmed along the skin there, and then he looked down, straight into Harlock’s eye. It glimmered with gold and lust, and something darker, something deeper that seemed to be locked away behind some part of Harlock that he wasn’t ready to release yet.

“I’m looking at you,” Yama said almost soft enough for it to be a whisper; the kind of tone that was usually reserved for lovers. He remembered speaking to Nami like this after their first time and the times that came after that.

“Indeed.” Did Harlock sound slightly pleased, or was it Yama’s imagination?

“What else?” Yama breathed, sliding his nose alongside Harlock’s. “What else do I do to make you talk to me?” He couldn’t help the slight pleading note that strung itself through his tone.

Harlock’s gaze darkened, as if he had forgotten what they had been talking about only a few moments ago, and he began to pull back, but Yama held fast, fingers tangled in Harlock’s incredibly soft hair, tightening as he tried to get away. Harlock stopped, but didn’t look back up at him.

“Harlock,” he said deliberately. The captain turned to look at him, his one eye glimmering with some sort of emotion that was utterly unreadable to Yama. He wondered if he would ever be able to read Harlock’s expressions or if his face would be an eternal enigma.

“Yama,” Harlock said in the same tone of voice, but it wasn’t the kind of tone that mocked. He wanted to get a point across just as much as Yama did. “Release me.” His fingers had slid out of Yama’s hair, away from his body as he said this and Yama felt a strange little jolt that was entirely unpleasant go through his entire body. His fingers unclasped, and he sat back, already missing that addictive touch. “I don’t believe that you understand what you are asking me to do,” Harlock said, his voice once again calm and cool.

Yama felt himself bristle. He didn’t want to be treated like a child; he knew better than that, but Harlock was right. On some level, he was always right. He turned his face away before Harlock could see the flash of rage that went across it. “Enlighten me,” he said, keeping his tone even.

Harlock made a noise of disgust and didn’t reply. Yama’s mind flew. What on earth could Harlock be talking about? This clearly had something to do with the feelings that they had halfway acknowledged that existed between them, but what exactly? Was Harlock asking Yama to look at it from his perspective?

Putting himself in Harlock’s shoes was no easy task. The man had endured much more than Yama had—and likely ever would. He had dealt with the kind of heartbreak that only true creators and destroyers could comprehend.

In addition to that, being immortal would have meant that he would have watched everyone he had ever cared for fade and die like flowers, like the very flower that Yama had brought him to give him a purpose again, to give him his freedom. What must that be like, to lose everyone and endure?

Yama couldn’t begin to imagine. He opened his mouth, not sure what he planned to say, but the words came anyhow. Harlock turned to him once more, gaze as unreadable as ever, but muted with a sort of sadness that affirmed the words that poured from Yama.

“I cannot fathom what it is like for you. You have probably lost everyone that you have ever cared for time and time again and I don’t know how you would be able to deal with…” he paused, the pain in his own heart flaring up as he remembered once again that Nami’s smile would never again be part of his life. “The pain over and over again.”

Harlock’s eye flared bright for a moment before dulling once more, pain like a damper on a lantern. Yes, he had gotten that part right. Now, he needed a reason to forget the pain. “But there is also pleasure, something to soothe that pain. However temporary it may be, it is worth every moment of the pain that comes afterwards.” Harlock’s gaze was directly on him, unwavering and the color of a sun covered with gold dust. “We must endure the pain for the best things.” Yama took a deep breath before continuing. “Captain, it has been so long since you have allowed yourself to feel that pure and utter bliss. Let me remind you of it.”

Harlock didn’t look away from Yama for several long, eternal heartbeats. Yama’s heart hammered at an incredibly fast pace as he watched Harlock’s face change subtly. If he hadn’t know the captain’s slight facial changes, he would have thought that his face was blank, but with Harlock, he had learned that the slight changes in his inflection and countenance meant the most.

Finally, after several moments, Harlock inclined his head in consent. “I will give you until we get to the planet in approximately twenty minutes,” he said.

Yama felt his heart rate shoot up even more; partially due to Harlock’s consent, and in part because of the time constraint. He nodded and stood from his chair. Harlock mirrored him, and the two watched each other for several long heartbeats, waiting for the other to make a move.

Harlock blinked once, slow and lazy, raising one eyebrow as if to say, _well? Get on with it._ Yama nodded and reached forward, stroking a finger along Harlock’s scar, so similar to his own, gently and slowly. His mind raced; he needed to find a way to make Harlock see that not all love was pain. The man had known it once upon a time, but it had been so long ago that he couldn’t remember.

A plan slowly developed in Yama’s mind as he continued stroking Harlock’s face with gentle, light touches of just the pads of his fingers to Harlock’s cheeks, lips, nose, jaw. He should be able to do it, just as Nami had done it to him time and time again over the years.

Yes, that would do nicely.

00800

Harlock’s blood was on fire. Yama’s fingers continued running along his face in gentle, unhurried strokes. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to bring the younger man forward and crush his lips against Yama’s, turn away from this entire thing and spare himself the pain that would follow, or simply begin weeping from the sheer intensity of emotions he was feeling at the moment.

He opted to stand completely still, barely daring to breathe as Yama came closer until they were close enough to kiss. He expected that, for Yama to take Harlock’s lips in his own, gently gnawing at them and slipping his tongue inside—hell that was all he needed to do—but to his surprise, Yama didn’t. Instead, the young man removed his hands from Harlock’s face and slid them down his chest with the same gentleness that spoke of near fragility; fragility that existed between them in that moment.

There was something as new as a butterfly bursting from its cocoon and the wrong move would crush its wings and leave it unable to fly. Without its wings, it would die and there would be nothing between them at all, then. Harlock could feel that Yama was being exceedingly gentle for this reason, and it swelled in his heart.

His body followed his arms downwards, until he was kneeling in front of Harlock, hands placed lightly on his hips. If Harlock’s blood had been on fire before, now it was as hot as a star, like molten lead running through his veins. He wasn’t sure if Yama’s intent was the same one he was imagining, but just seeing the man-boy kneeling before him was enough to make his prick twitch in interest, all of that molten blood pooling in his groin. Damn, if Yama didn’t do what it looked like he would, Harlock would have a hard time concentrating on their raid, just thinking about the sight.

Yama rested his head against Harlock’s thigh for a few moments, simply touching his forehead to Harlock’s thigh and giving him time to process what Yama was implying and giving him the option of moving away.

Harlock didn’t move an inch, and after several moments, Yama nodded, his chin brushing the top of Harlock’s boot. He looked up Harlock’s body, trying to gauge his reaction. Harlock’s eye gleamed with a dark and almost animalistic lust. The gold shone bright through the curtain of hair that obscured everything else, but Yama knew that Harlock wanted this, and that was more than enough for him. Moving his head slightly, Yama drew his nose along Harlock’s half-hard length, earning the smallest gasp from the man and then reached up with his fingers to undo the buckle of his belt. Harlock felt more blood rush down, the painful hardness in his cock doubling.

Yama went exceptionally slow, slow enough for it to be almost maddening, but his movements were gentle and light, somehow conveying a kind of tenderness that lovers of years gone by had with each other. It was strange to see something so intimate with someone he hardly knew. Harlock’s first belt hit the floor of the ship with a loud thump, the sound like a gunshot to Harlock’s ears. Yama’s fingers dipped low again, running alongside Harlock’s cock, and Harlock couldn’t keep his hips still despite his best intentions to, trying to create more pressure from Yama’s light, barely-there touch. Yama drew back slightly, eliciting a slightly irritated—breathless—moan from Harlock, who clamped down on the sound, aborting it halfway through, and threated his fingers through Yama’s hair so that he could clutch at his neck. His hair was fine but not thin, such a different texture than his own; soft beyond comparison, like pinfeathers.

The second belt came undone with the same slow precision that bordered on obscene, and Yama’s breath felt nearly as hot as his blood against Harlock’s cock as he mouthed the hard flesh through the fabric. Harlock’s hips stuttered forward. He had half a mind to tell Yama to lay off and get on with it, but the other part was enjoying the way the pleasure built slowly, like how the _Arcadia_ would prepare to use the dark matter engine to travel great distances in a short period of time, and he chose that part to rule his mind at the moment.

Finally, Yama drew back and unclasped the third belt, fingers running like ghosts over Harlock’s lower abdomen as he drew the leather away from his body. Harlock felt his heart kick start as Yama glanced up at him once more, silently asking if it was okay to continue.

“I would like to see you try to stop,” Harlock ground out, reaching down with his free hand to undo his pants. Yama's fingers pushed his away after a moment of blind fumbling—was Harlock always this uncoordinated when it came to young men offering to blow him?  He drew the button away at the same torturously slow pace that he had removed Harlock’s belts, moving onto the next button with the same slow, precision.

Harlock was losing his mind; there was no other way to put it. The slow pace at which Yama set should have not been possible. Surely Harlock had more patience than a man barely a fifth of his age. Before he could ponder that though much longer, the final button came undone, and Yama spread the pants apart so that he could see the outline of Harlock’s cock pressed against the fine cloth of his briefs.

Yama glanced up at him once more, eyes brimming with too many emotions for one simple look before reaching forward and palming Harlock. The pirate captain tried to force his hips to a standstill, but they jerked forward into the heat of Yama’s palm without his consent for the third time, and this time, Harlock did nothing to reign in the movement.

“Captain,” Yama said in that same voice that he had used when Harlock had been on top of him, grinding hips against him and equally as hard as he was in that moment. “Harlock,” he added a moment later, pushing the fabric of Harlock’s underclothing aside, leaving bare flesh against flesh.

Yama’s fingers were nothing like his; calloused and hard from years and years of fighting, plundering, and standing at the helm of the _Arcadia_. No, they were a smooth that bordered on silky, and the change in consistency sent bolts of pleasure through Harlock’s system. He let out a breath that would have been a moan had he found his voice in time.  Yama’s fingers snaked around his length and gave a few lazy pumps as if he were gauging how Harlock liked it best.

Harlock’s eye opened onto the ceiling, watching the way the reflection of the lights of the control center created an incredibly colorful pattern on the cool, hard metal. The pleasure built quickly now, making Harlock’s self-control waver; he almost let out a sound of pleasure before biting on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The parallels between this and the situation from before were endless, yet this meant so much more than the first time could have ever. It wasn’t because Harlock was on the receiving end of the pleasure—no that wasn’t it. It was because Yama was touching him, worshiping his very flesh in a way that Harlock hadn’t felt for years, bordering on decades.

When Yama drew back, it was as if an essential piece of Harlock had been taken with him. His cock throbbed in pleasure pain, and this time, even biting his lip couldn’t hold back his noise of dissatisfaction. He glanced down, eye rolling from the ceiling to where Yama was crouched between his legs. “Yama,” he began, the pain apparent in his voice despite his best attempts to stifle it. Before he could get another word out, Yama’s tongue flicked out and— _oh._

Harlock’s toes nearly curled inside of his boots from the sheer and utter pleasure of Yama’s tongue circling the head of his cock, like liquid fire—such a womanly thing to do that he was glad that his boots trapped his toes from doing little more than clench. Harlock felt another throb of pleasure go through his cock, causing it to twitch away from Yama’s lips.

Yama stopped and glanced up at Harlock. “Is this good, Captain?” he asked, his voice sex-drenched and utterly irresistible. In response, Harlock tightened his hold in Yama’s hair and pushed his head back down. He caught the smile before Yama’s tongue flicked out again, this time running alongside the vein on the underneath part of Harlock’s length. His hips didn’t even try to stop themselves this time, and he didn’t mind. Yama caught Harlock’s cock in his mouth—at long fucking last—and proceeded to swallow as much as he could take.

Yama’s mouth was incredibly hot, and that tongue was nudging along the hardened flesh of Harlock’s cock with each inch that he swallowed down. Yama was by no means talented, and Harlock new that this was the boy’s first time doing this sort of thing. It was sloppy, messy and would have been nearly lackluster except for the way that Yama was looking at him, the way that his fingers were kneading Harlock’s thighs and the way his tongue kept flicking along his length, as if he were some sort of frozen food that Yama was eating.

Harlock’s hips jolted forward of their own accord, and Yama didn’t complain, swallowing Harlock down even further. The fingers of one of his hands slid from the shifting flesh of Harlock’s thighs as he fought to keep himself from falling to his knees and skimmed along his balls, kneading them between those silky smooth fingers. Harlock tilted his head back once more, closing his eyes against the foreign sensation, and somehow knew that his own fingers would never be enough now. He would need the smooth fingers of Yama touching him to get this much pleasure from anything.

Yama finally hollowed his cheeks and— _oh fuck_ —Harlock couldn’t concentrate. His mind went blank as pure pleasure overtook him. Yama’s eye ran up his body once more and Harlock remembered how beautiful it was to watch someone from down the line of his own body. The only thing that would have enhanced the experience would have been if his clothes were lying somewhere halfway across the deck and being able to see the shift of Yama’s muscles under bare skin, and if he was leaned against something so that he wouldn’t have to expend all of his energy on keeping himself upright.

Harlock was so hard, so completely caught up in the revelation that Yama wanted him without even the pain to confuse his mind and alcohol to addle his brain that he came in a ridiculously short amount of time. He opened his mouth to warn Yama, but the young man was already swallowing the seed without being asked, and only Yama’s name issued from his lips, over and over, as if he could speak the very essence of Yama’s being through the two syllables, bind that essence to his so that he could feel this every second of his existence.

After the first initial gag, Yama handled it quite well, and Harlock felt the faintest glimmer of pride that he had been Yama’s first followed by a close second of guilt for having taken this small shard of innocence from the boy. He decided that he couldn’t care less a few moments later. Innocence was very overrated when it came to things of such exquisite pleasure.

Harlock felt Yama’s throat muscles contracting as he swallowed, squeezing gently and milking the space captain for everything he was worth. It was doing wonders to make the experience just that much more enticing. He hardly cared that he had come as quickly as a man twice his age—or at least how old his body appeared to be, he was so caught up in the moment.

Before he could completely come down from the high that could only be brought about by sex, Yama had stood and was kissing him once again, lips sloppy and salty. Normally, Harlock would have drawn back in disgust at such an unorganized action, but suspended in this moment and due to circumstances that had led to it, he found the kiss to be incredibly endearing.

His fingers, which at some point had relinquished their hold on Yama’s neck, came up on reflex to cradle his face. He felt Yama shiver as his finger slid over his jaw, fingertips aligning on his high cheekbones and resting there like the ghost of a touch. Yama’s tongue sought Harlock’s with a wild abandonment; there was nothing the boy was leaving on the table.

And damn, if it wasn’t working pretty damn well on Harlock.

He tried not to think of what this meant; what allowing Yama into his life and into his heart would entail. It would be an exquisite torture, something that Harlock wasn’t completely convinced that he wanted. Even basking in the closeness of Yama’s body, the feeling of his prick pressed against Harlock’s thigh, and the feeling of how very _alive_ he was, Harlock could taste the eternal loneliness that only he was doomed to endure.

  1. Harlock drew back from the kiss, dropping his fingers away from Yama’s face and focusing on tucking himself back into his pants and quickly re-assembling himself. As he buckled the numerous belts that made up his customary uniform, Harlock struggled to gather the unraveled bits of his mind, the pieces that were stuck wandering in that golden bliss that Yama had brought after the first brush of his lips against Harlock’s and packaged them away very tightly into a ball that let none of those pesky feelings in.



It nearly killed him inside to do so, but he was more than used to these feelings of dying inside emotionally. It was better to feel the pain now with his feelings just budding than to feel it ten times worse after letting himself fall hard and fast for this utterly endearing young man who had somehow thought that it was okay for him to come and shake up Harlock’s existence. No, completely turn it upside down.

Dammit, he was already too far gone for this to completely work, this cutting off of the feelings, but he could still start. Perhaps they would cool if they were left alone long enough. Harlock would try with everything in his mind, body and soul—if he even had one anymore—to keep himself and Yama as safe as he could from the potentially volatile feelings that he felt.

If it meant shattering Yama’s heart in the process, well, Harlock could call it collateral damage that would ultimately be the best for both of them. The young man’s hopeful gaze was too much for him to bear. Innocence. That was what was contained deep within Yama. He was still innocent to all that the world held, no matter how much pain he had been through.

That was what had driven Harlock to hesitate, when he had been standing outside of Yama’s quarters, because there was nothing that Harlock could bring Yama except for corruption. He was a pirate, for fuck’s sake. He had killed, he had stolen, he had plundered. He had reveled in the decimation of another’s life, and Yama knew nothing of that darkness. They may have been similar in their pain, but they were far from the same. Yama reminded him of that flower that he had brought him from the surface of Earth, something innocent, something that promised redemption. Harlock didn’t deserve redemption.

Harlock grimaced and turned away from Yama. His decision was made, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make it work.

00800

Yama ended up in a bar somewhere very far away from Harlock and the rest of the crew. He didn’t know the name, he didn’t know his way back to the ship, and he didn’t know whose ass his hand was on at the moment or what had been put in his cup for the umpteenth time.

He only knew that the fuzziness brought on by the alcohol was doing a wonderful job of numbing him, and the girl who was grinding against him, practically fucking him against the table, was distracting his body from its thoughts of Harlock— _no, don’t think of that name, dammit—_ quite nicely. Yama leaned his head back, downing the last of his mug and feeling the dull burn of the alcohol straight to his gut. He most likely had more alcohol than blood running through his veins at this point.

Yama couldn’t find the energy to care. He glanced down at the woman and grinned at her, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. She let out a squeal that ended on a laugh and half-heartedly slapped at his hand. When she pressed her lips to his, the last part of Yama that cared fell silent.

It was torturous. He wanted Harlock’s lips against his. He didn’t want to feel the softness of breasts against him, and he didn’t want to grasp such wide and padded hips. He wanted muscle underneath him, a cock resting alongside his own, the sharp press of hipbones against hipbones and teeth on his neck.

“Alexia,” a harsh, very male voice snapped, and the writhing girl stilled against Yama. “Has he paid yet?”

“Devon, come on,” the girl—Alexia, apparently—said, sliding off of Yama’s lap. He was halfway sad to see her go—she had been doing a lovely job of distracting him from the immediate problem—and halfway relieved. He didn’t want to deal with her, anyway. “It was just a little fun.”

“And when he pulls his prick out and fucks you against the table, will it still be a little fun?” Yama lolled his head to the side in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the person who was talking, but all he saw was a blurry, hulking shape.

That made the girl subside, and she faded somewhere off to his left. Yama focused on this new threat—possible entertainment?—and grinned. “Care to fill my drink up again?” he asked, slurring the words together considerably.

The man came into the light finally, and Yama blinked. His face was of the same dark color that all peoples’ skin was here, but half of it looked to be burnt and deformed, drawn in a permanent scowl. “I’m not a barmaid,” the man snapped and started to turn away, before peering back at him. “You look like someone I know.”

Yama instantly knew what he was talking about and frowned. “I’m not that bastard of a pirate captain,” he said with conviction, raising his finger and pointing it at the man, and then found that his finger was swaying side to side. He put it back down on the table and considered throwing up.

“Bastard is he? I couldn’t agree more,” the man said again, flashing white teeth.

“No, I’m not him,” Yama continued, musing halfway to himself. “I don’t have that thick of a damn cock. Or his pissy attitude.”

The man threw his head back and laughed. Yama realized that he had said the last part out loud and considered apologizing. But the man was laughing, so it couldn’t be all that bad now, could it? “I knew that lying bastard swung both ways,” he said and leaned over the bar conspiratorially, grinning nearly manically. “Was he a good fuck?”

Yama opened his mouth to reply with something that he would greatly regret later, but before he could so much as utter a syllable, a man slammed into him from behind. Yama felt his teeth clamp down around his tongue and tasted blood, but didn’t feel the pain. He turned and glared at whomever it was; another stumbling drunk like himself.

Swaying as the room tilted all around him, Yama drew himself upright and turned to face the man. “Are you wishing to die tonight?” he slurred.

The other man looked at him with bloodshot eyes and grinned, displaying a lack of proper teeth. “I was ‘oping for a fight tonight,” he said, words just as slurred as Yama’s. “Get off a little steam.”

“Tell me about it.” Yama raised his fists to a fighting position and shuffled his feet wide enough to where he wouldn’t completely fall over as the entire bar swayed around him. He spit blood out as it pooled in his mouth.

“If you start a fight, I’m throwing you out,” the man standing behind the bar said in warning.

“Fuck off” Yama muttered, half to himself and elbowed the man in the nose. Blood spurted, hot and messy, and _damn_ Yama had forgotten how good it was to just _punch_ something. He slammed his other fist into the man’s gut. The man went down like a limp fish, but hooked his foot around Yama’s ankle. If he’d been sober, Yama could have gotten out of it, but as it was, his response was slow and he found himself falling onto the man. Before he could even get a curse out, he was flipped over onto his back and pain crackled up the side of his face from his cheekbone. “You hit like a girl,” he said dazedly, working his jaw. The next hit was a punch straight to his jugular and it hurt like a bitch. He coughed up a few choice words and kicked the man in the groin.

Everything was out of focus as the huge, hulking man pried the other man off of him and put his large foot on Yama’s chest. “Well damn,” he muttered, feeling his vision fade around the edge. He was going to pass out, and he hadn’t even gotten off yet. He had hoped to last that long, but it looked as if that last punch had done him in. “Don’t take me back to the ship,” were his last words before everything went dark.

00800 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I’m so good at ending things at the worst possible times in all of my fanfics. But guys, this is almost twice as long as the first chapter and it’s just weird to keep it going so long. So I’m going to end it before it becomes like ten years long.   
> Anyhow, Harlock is basically being a little idiot and I want to shake him and yet I love him at the same time because he’s…Harlock. Wow. How is this, that I always write the beginning and ending notes when it’s two in the morning and I’m delirious? I’m not making any sense am I?  
> I’ll shut up, and let’s just go with that.   
> Anyhow, please review and let me know what you think! There will be more smutty goodness to come, so stay tuned! Love you all! Kirk out.


	3. Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly smut-less and also lots of angst. It's rather long, I apologize, but at least it's finally out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize, I realize that I am the worst uploader in the history of uploading. About the time that school started I stopped writing, and with sports and homework, I couldn’t seem to find the right amount of time to write. And then I got a job. So yeah. That happened. But now I’m done with sports, have quit my job, and ignore my homework. So, that means more time for writing! I apologize again, though. I hate it when my fanfictions that I follow keep me waiting for so long, and I’ve always told myself I wouldn’t do that. (Hah. I’ve done it, and I’m so, so sorry.) 
> 
> Anyhow. Here’s chapter three. Lots of Harlock’s swearing. Lots of implied sexual antics. (Although it’s mostly just angst in this chapter. I hate myself.) Etc, etc. Please, enjoy, and hopefully I’ll be able to start writing more again. (I really am very sorry about how long it’s taken me to upload!)
> 
> Please leave comments,criticism, reviews, kudos, whatever floats your boat! I love it all. 
> 
> Kirk Out

Five fucking hours.

 

It had taken Harlock five entire fucking hours to track down the newest and most irritating member of his crew. He had abandoned all hope of a warm bed hours ago, of good company and of his favorite type of brandy, older than he was. And where had he found Yama? A bar. The same fucking bar that Harlock had promised himself that he would never come back to—not after that embarrassing proposition the man who still happened to be working behind the bar had extended to him. That was before Harlock had discovered that men were just as good as women, better in some senses.

 

And had he been holding his liquor like a man, brooding silently in a corner as he ought to have been? No, the idiot had been passed out on the floor, a black bruise that extended far beyond his good eye blossoming alongside his entire cheek and jaw.

 

And to complete the shocking picture, a man whom Harlock had never seen before was attempting to tote him off to God knows where and do God knows what to him in his comatose state. Harlock’s temper was already so far gone that he would have no qualms about drawing his sword and slicing the man’s head straight off of his shoulders.

 

He did draw it, and he did place it along the man’s cheek, but he restrained himself from putting enough force behind it to do little more than break the skin. A fat drop of blood slid down the man’s cheek, and he stilled as he felt the cool metal cut into him, bloodshot and alcohol-glazed eyes peering up at Harlock. His clothes were grungy, clearly from yesterday, and he stank of old sweat and fear. A pathetic human being.

 

He didn’t deserve to touch Yama’s body.

 

“Get your fucking filthy paws off of him and leave.” Harlock’s tone was low, dangerous and had caused many men to fall to their knees, begging for forgiveness and redemption. The man sneered up at him and only reached down, swiping one grimy thumb across Yama’s lower lip.

And damn, if it didn’t send the ugliest pang of jealousy through Harlock’s gut, followed close by a white-hot bolt of rage. He might not be allowed to touch Yama, but no one else was, either. Certainly not this lowlife.

 

“Devon,” he snapped, not quite able to bring himself to look at the large man who was hulking behind the counter, polishing a pair of glasses. “Get this vile thing out. He’s molesting my successor.”

 

Devon paused and set the glasses down, slow and easy. “You’ll owe me something.”

 

“Fine,” Harlock sighed, sheathing his sword. “I’ll do it myself.” He grasped the man by his collar and swung him up—for Christ sakes he was heavy—and as far away from Yama’s body as he could manage. His muscles shrieked at him to drop his heavy burden, but he ignored them and hauled the half-delirious man to the door. He dropped him none-too-gracefully on the step and planted a single boot in his ass, kicking him as far out into the street as he could and hoped that whatever the equivalent of a horse on this planet was, would crush his head in.

 

“Would you mind explaining what the hell is going on here?” he growled, stalking over to the bar and hooking his leg through a bar stool in front of Devon. The huge man glanced behind him, fingers not hesitating as they lined clean glasses up methodically.

 

Devon took his time turning around. The hostility that had been present in their last meeting—many, many years ago—had not faded over the decade and a half. It still burned in Devon’s eyes and was apparent in the way he moved his hands and his body. Quick, sharp, aborted. “Maybe you’d like to do a little explaining yourself,” he said harshly.

 

Harlock sighed and glanced back at Yama, who, unsurprisingly, hadn’t moved an inch. “How much did you give him?”

 

“Lost count,” Devon grunted. “After about the tenth.”

 

Well, no wonder the idiot was passed out on the floor. Harlock felt like alternately smiling and cursing at Yama. Devon was silent, but it wasn’t a companionable silence. It was the kind of silence that someone expects something from. Harlock let out an irritated breath. “We had a disagreement,” he said.

 

Devon raised an eyebrow. “Something so small as a disagreement would drive a boy to drink his weight in vodka? I thought you treated your crew better than that, Harlock.”

 

“You know nothing of me or my crew,” Harlock snapped, taking what he assumed to be Yama’s drink and downing the rest. Oh, yes, quite potent. Perhaps he wouldn’t need that brandy, after all. “Get me another.”

 

Devon worked silently for several moments and slammed the shot glass down in front of Harlock. “Did you completely destroy his heart?” he asked finally.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s quite obvious you two have fucked.”

 

“We have not.”  _ Only come close enough for me to wish I hadn’t stopped. _ Harlock realized that he sounded like an impertinent child and wished he could suck the words back in. “Don’t stick your nose in other peoples’ business,” he tried again. There. Just the right level of not-caring in his tone.

 

Devon only shook his head, and Harlock wondered what Yama had told him. “He asked me—well, I’m not sure who he was talking to—to not bring him back to the ship.”

It hit Harlock like a physical blow, those words. He actually swayed a bit, muscles in his legs twanging in protest as they attempted to keep him upright. The  _ Arcadia _ was home. How could Yama not want to go home?

 

_ Oh, yes, perhaps your one sentence long discussion after he blew you, _ Harlock’s mind snapped at him. Had he broken him so badly? He told his mind to stick it where the sun didn’t shine and stopped paying attention. “And that is relevant to me why?”

 

“I don’t think he’d be too happy to wake up on the ship if you decide to take him home,” Devon said.

 

Harlock nearly snapped, ‘I don’t give a damn about what he thinks about it,’ but decided to go with, “Fine, a room then.” He didn’t care that he had a raid to go on in the morning. He didn’t care that he would probably be late to it, and he didn’t care that Yama might explode at him the moment he saw him. Harlock had handled things terribly on the ship. He was supposed to be the adult, the logical one who wasn’t acting like a butt-hurt teenager. He would have to be the one to try to patch up whatever they had left of a normal relationship and make it work, because that’s what Harlock did. He made messes and tried to correct them.

 

Devon nodded and handed Harlock a room key. Downing the last of his drink, Harlock swept over to Yama’s body, sprawled quite ungracefully across the floor and picked him up. All the way up the stairs, Harlock tried not to think about how soft Yama’s hair was against his forearm.

 

00800

 

When Yama woke next, the strange light was the first thing he noticed. His pounding head was the second. It felt as if his brains would fall out of his nose if he dared to shift even a bit. Yama groaned and cracked his eyes open and glared at the offending light. “Turn the lanterns down, for the love of everything holy,” he ground out.

 

There was no response, and Yama cracked his eyes open a bit more. No, that wasn’t lantern light, it was… sunlight? Forgetting his pain momentarily, Yama widened his eyes. There was no sunlight on the  _ Arcadia.  _ They only told time through the huge hourglasses that were interspersed throughout the ships and magnetized to turn over every twenty-four hours to signal a new day.

 

The third thing was the fact that everything around him smelled strange, foreign. The  _ Arcadia _ had a certain smell, something that Yama hadn’t even realized that he’d picked up in his time on its decks. Perhaps it was the scent of dark matter, or of Niflang technology. Whatever it was, it was decidedly absent. 

 

Yama dragged himself out of bed and stumbled across the room, the dizziness taking him over slowly. He had to pause with one hand on the wall as his head rent down the middle. Yama took the moment to search his mind for some sense of what the hell had happened. Bits and pieces of blurry fragments of memory floated together, and for a moment, they made no sense. Looking at a foreign planet through the view of a ship, a drink--not the first--placed in front of him by a man with scars all over his face, the curve of Harlock’s exposed throat as he threw his head back in ecstasy. 

 

_ Oh, yes. _ The fragments coalesced into something resembling what might have been a whole memory, though it still seemed quite jagged around the edges. That may have just been his heart, though. Yama turned back to the bed with the intention of going back to sleep and perhaps waking in a time when he didn’t remember a single thing. He froze, nearly toppling over in his attempt to stop all of his body parts simultaneously. Catching himself at the last second, Yama swayed to a halt and glared at the quite pissed off pirate captain who currently occupied the chair beside his bed. 

 

“What are you doing here?” he snarled. 

 

“Saving your sorry ass,” Harlock snarled back, standing. He looked so out of place in this ordinary, plain room. His hand twitched to his sword, fingers wrapping around the handle before he seemed to remember himself, and he let it go with a quick, jerky movement. “What else?”

 

Yama scoffed and sat down hard on the bed. “How did you find me?” he finally asked, after observing the way the two stars in the sky caused an obscene amount of light. 

 

“You’re predictable, if nothing else,” Harlock said, and Yama twisted around for a moment to glare at Harlock again. “And, making me late. Kei and the others will expect me on the raid.” He moved to the door. “I assume that if you want to return, I should tell you that we’re leaving after our raid this morning--which you were supposed to be on, but I can assure you I wouldn’t let you near a gun in the state you’re in.”

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

“Don’t be fucking petty,” Harlock snapped. “You’re a wanted fugitive. You wouldn’t survive a day on your own.”

 

Yama let out a noise that may have been half scorn and half pain, but he couldn’t tell because it scraped along his throat dryly, losing most of the emotion on the way out. “Maybe that would be for the best.”

 

Harlock turned from his position at the door. “Oh, now you’re just being over dramatic. Try to get yourself in order before noon. We won’t wait for you.”

 

“I should hope not,” Yama yelled after Harlock as he turned with a swish of his cloak, looking his normal, menacing self as he stalked out of the room. A distant door closed, and Yama felt something inside of him slump, as if the anger had been holding him upright. 

 

Oh, yes, he remembered everything in perfect detail now. He was completely awake and shoved into the exact same pain as he had been experiencing earlier. He remembered how Harlock had turned away from him, killed everything that could have possibly been between them with a single sentence. 

 

“It wasn’t enough,” he had said. “It never will be.” He had withdrawn, reached down and picked up the few pieces of clothing Yama had bothered to rid him of. Yama had expected him to retreat, but when Harlock moved to sit back down in the cockpit chair without another word to Yama, he felt his stomach bottom out. 

 

When Yama had said his name and reached out, Harlock had  _ flinched _ of all things, as if bearing Yama’s touch was physically painful. Yama had retreated to his seat, feeling the raging heat that refused to go away deep down in his stomach dwindle and intensify all at once--impossibly--and the sudden lack of Harlock’s warmth against him shocked him like nothing else. Yama had taken a deep breath, shuddering and not at all even. The taste of Harlock’s come in the back of his throat was bitter and salty, and the only reminder he had of what had just transpired.

 

He found himself looking at Harlock as they descended into the atmosphere. The captain had closed off very quickly, as Harlock tended to do after any emotional display, reasserting himself as the person in control, not his emotions, and Yama watched him piece himself together, one bit at a time until there was nothing vulnerable, nothing that Yama could associate with. 

 

They had landed silently, gotten ready silently, and Harlock left Yama with the last, parting phrase, the one that had really cut deep. “You’re not worth the pain.” As Harlock had lifted an empty crate, Yama had left without another word, and Harlock hadn’t looked to see him go. For the first time in years, Yama found himself fighting tears, and he fought them until he stumbled into that little bar and ordered his first drink. Then, everything had gone blissfully numb and he could breathe again after washing away the taste of Harlock. 

 

Yama blinked up at the ceiling. He had heard once that it was possible for the tendons of the heart to tear from great emotional stress, and wondered if it was possible for heartbreak to be the end of him. Then, he let out a low, hollow laugh. “Melodramatic,” he said and stood. Harlock was right. 

 

He would show up for that raid, if it came to hell or high waters, but any way to piss off Harlock at this point was good enough for him.  _ And to make sure they don’t leave you, _ a tiny voice in the back of his head pointed out. Yama ignored that and went into the bathroom to deal with his pounding head and bladder. 

 

00800

 

Harlock paced in front of his officers. They had landed the ships in discreet locations and met in the back of an abandoned building to avoid any unwanted attention according to schedule, and so far there hadn’t been a single problem. 

 

“The Gaia Coalition base on this planet is located here,” he said, tapping a finger against a map as he walked by it. “In case any of you were asleep when we discussed this on the ship,” he added dryly. He turned to survey the dozen or so men and women who had followed him off of the ship. None made a single movement as they waited. He scoffed inwardly and resumed his pacing. “We infiltrate and hit them hard from the inside,” he said. “That’s the easy part. The hard part is getting out.”

 

“Do we get to blow anything up?” Yulian asked. Harlock smirked at the man, whose eyes were gleaming behind his tinted glasses with a sort of glee that Harlock completely understood. He hid a smile, and nodded. 

 

“If you absolutely feel the need to,” he said, and Yulian elbowed Kei. She looked mildly annoyed but smiled all the same. Harlock paused. It was so out of place from their lives, the constant running and hiding, the pressing heartbreak of destroying an entire planet. For a moment, Harlock felt almost nostalgic, as if he was a century younger and carefree. He supposed that it would be better, now, as long as they could avoid the Gaia Coalition. 

 

Everything was as close to perfect as life could get for someone like Harlock. Why, then, did he feel so lost? A flicker of movement caught his eye, and Harlock tilted his head a fraction of an inch to follow it. He nearly let his face of surprise show, but spun on his heel at the last moment and paced the length of the ship once more. What the hell was Yama doing here? He had hardly been able to walk the last time he’d seen the young man. How did he think Harlock would let him  _ raid _ of an on-planet stronghold? One slip-up would not only mean incarceration and possible death, but it would end up being the demise of them all. 

 

“Dismissed,” he said curtly. “We’ll follow plan as much as possible, but improvise as needed. We commence in an hour.” His crewmates dispersed, and Harlock narrowed his eyes at the map. “Yama I need to discuss something with you.” He grimaced internally, trying to force his thoughts away from the last time they had been alone on a ship together. He couldn’t have his body betraying him at a time like this. 

 

He watched as Yama paused in the doorway, finally turning to face the rest of the room. His shoulders pulled back in surprise, and after a moment of hesitation, Yama stepped to the side and let the others go by. Harlock didn’t miss the way Kei paused at the door, turning to cast a look at Yama, half-confused, half-unreadable. He clenched his jaw and turned away once more before those questioning eyes could reach him. Kei knew him well enough to figure it out, and he didn’t want anyone to know, and not just for his reputation. 

 

Harlock knew that his crewmates didn’t give a fuck who he screwed, but others would see it as an opportunity to use against him. If they were captured, it would go badly. Harlock didn’t have the balls to admit it to himself, but he would give up what secrets he knew of the universe to spare Yama from pain. It was better that no one knew of this annoyingly persistent attraction for Yama. 

 

“You wanted to speak with me?” Harlock jerked himself away from such dark thoughts and turned to face Yama, attempting to reassemble his countenance into something akin to icy coolness. He couldn’t let Yama know that he affected him so goddamn much. 

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Harlock growled, taking a step. Yama’s face, carefully blank, showed a flicker of surprise, and then anger that mirrored the feeling boiling in Harlock’s gut. 

 

“I’m a party of this crew,” he said, and with his own step forward, Harlock found that they were close enough that he couldn’t pull away. “I will go on this raid because, like it or not, you need me.”

 

Harlock managed to scoff. “I wouldn’t go that far.” The dryness in his voice wasn’t deliberate. His throat was suddenly dry as he looked into Yama’s eye, burning with a sort of righteous fire. They stayed there for several heartbeats.

 

Yama blinked suddenly, the anger clearing from his gaze, and he made a move to step back. Harlock’s hand shot out before he could even consider terminating the action, and his fingers were wrapped around the wiry strength of Yama’s bicep. “Captain--” Yama gritted out. “Please dismiss me.”

 

“No,” Harlock snapped. “If you get any of my people killed because you’re still fucked up, I’ll shoot you myself.”

 

There was a moment of pause in which Harlock was unsure of what Yama’s reaction would be; a moment in which the scale could--was--tipping dangerously between violence and lust. That movement seemed to drag on for an eternity, and Harlock found his gaze slipping from Yama’s eye--pupil blown and clear as glass and conveying to him something that he couldn’t quite place--to his lips. Yam’s tongue flicked out, and for the briefest moment Harlock forgot about every single reason why this wouldn’t work, every fear. He swayed closer, lips ghosting just centimeters away from Yama’s, and then Yama’s gaze slammed shut and he yanked himself back, ripping his forearm away from Harlock’s grip. 

 

“Understood, sir,” he growled, and turned away. It wasn’t fast enough that Harlock didn’t see the raw, naked pain that echoed the empty feeling in his chest as Yama made his way to the door. 

 

Harlock sucked in a breath and turned away. “Good,” he said, the word empty, echoing. Yama’s slow, even steps didn’t hesitate once, and all too soon, Harlock found himself alone.  _ What the fuck was he thinking? _ Harlock, after years--decades, even--of dealing with extreme emotional stress had better control than that. He understood Yama’s anger. One minute, he’s telling Yama that he isn’t worth it, and the next, he’s almost kissing him. Harlock was one thing if no other: direct in telling and showing people how he felt about them. 

 

Breaking that with Yama made no sense. Harlock cursed himself. He would have to convince himself, then, to avoid hurting Yama. Hell, he’d already done enough damage; he didn’t want to be responsible for causing Yama to become bitter at a premature age. He’d seen what happened to young, hopeful people who had their hearts shattered entering a relationship with a toxic person. He’d  _ been _ one of those people. 

 

Harlock let out a slow breath and gathered himself. He wouldn’t let this distract him so close to a raid. He needed to be able to tap into the cool, hard party of his mind that made everything crystal clear. He needed to be able to survive. Nodding once to himself, Harlock shoved everything out of his mind and focused on the feel of his heart thudding beneath his ribcage and thought about the feel and smell of blood. A moment later, there wasn’t a part of himself that was vulnerable. Harlock opened his eyes and left the room to prepare for battle. 

 

00800

 

Yama cursed under his breath as he followed the other soldiers to the ship they’d brought the weapons down on. What the hell was Harlock’s fucking angle? He’d always been so direct, telling Yama what he thought; no matter if it infuriated him. If Yama had an opposing viewpoint, Harlock expected and welcomed equal frankness. But he couldn’t understand what the pirate captain meant when he told him one thing and showed him another. 

 

Lust was still pounding in his veins from that single look Harlock had given him, that ghost of a kiss he had barely been able to lean away from. He’d wanted to melt, to give into every party of his body screaming that this was so utterly  _ right.  _ Because it wasn’t, and he knew it, and Harlock knew it. 

 

“Hey.” Harlock glanced up in surprise. Kei had fallen into step beside him. He nodded a quick greeting to her and shoved thoughts of Harlock to the back of his mind. “Is everything alright?” Yama slanted Kei another glance. It was rare that she ever showed the smallest bit of kindness to him. 

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He glanced away. People were staring at him as he walked with Kei, and he wondered if they could see his utter frustration like an aura around him. 

 

“You didn’t show up last night.”

 

“No,” Yama agreed, not elaborating. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders, trying to look more inconspicuous. It was rather hard, when the men and women of this planet were wearing something akin to togas. He realized that the black leather of his outfit was very out of place on this planet. Perhaps they should’ve changed to blend in. Well, too late now. 

 

“Look,” Kei said, and Yama braced himself. She only got that tone of voice when she was about to kick his ass verbally. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and the Captain, and I’m aware it’s none of my business, but we have a job to do.”

 

“Yeah,” Yama said. “I won’t fuck it up.”

 

Kei nodded. “Good.” There was a moment of silence, and then she picked up her pace. “Move your ass,” she threw over her shoulder and Yama relaxed. This was how Kei usually spoke to him, and he could believe, if he didn’t really think, that everything was normal. “We still have to get into position.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Yama grumbled, but he flashed Kei a quick smile before she was out of earshot. She rolled her eyes and walked faster. Yama took the moment to pause and take a few breaths. If Kei was noticing something was off, that would mean that the others would be noticing soon, too. Harlock needed to back off if he was looking to keep… whatever they had under the radar. Not like that would be a problem, Yama reminded himself. He could still hear Harlock murmuring those words, so casually spoken, but each syllable cut him deep, over and over, until he wasn’t sure if his heart was still working properly for all the physical pain it was giving him. 

 

_ Get a grip, _ he told himself, rounding the corner of a building to see Kei disappearing into one of the parked ships.  _ Wouldn’t want to get anyone killed because you’re too worried about something Harlock said.  _ He clenched his jaw and wondered whether or not he would want to put on a hardsuit.

 

As it turned out, they were dressing like the locals, because the loose clothes made weapons easy to hide. Yama immediately wished he was in a hardsuit. He was crouched behind some sort of stand at the corner of a building, eyeing at the only modern-looking thing in the entire town. White-suited Gaia Coalition members milled in and out of the doors like ants, some carrying semi-automatic rifles. Sweat dripped down his back, and Yama was almost positive that he would have a sunburn despite the way the fabric of these improvised clothes covered him from head to toe. The hot desert air scratched his throat, and Yama wished he’d had the presence of mind to grab a canteen of water. He hadn’t known that they would be waiting in their designated positions for such a long time. 

 

Glancing over to the right, Yama could sometimes catch a glimpse of light winking off of Yulian’s tinted glasses as the large man shifted. He looked to be as impatient as Yama felt. Kei was invisible in her position somewhere a few buildings to Yama’s left. They were waiting for Harlock’s signal, whatever that might be. Waiting was always the worst part of these kinds of raids. Yama could feel the adrenaline singing its way through his body, making his heartbeat erratic and his breathing thin and labored. He was nearly shaking in anticipation. He just wanted to move; not sit around any longer. 

 

_ Was that…? _ Yama squinted. Even with his head wrapped, Yama recognized Harlock’s confident, graceful stride. He looked to the right once again, and saw Yulian standing. He clenched his jaw, gauging the distance of the area between him and the entrance. Harlock casually strolled right up to the door, and presented some sort of I.D. Yama balked, and patted himself down. He hadn’t gotten anything like that--

 

“You look like an idiot,” Kei hissed grabbing his elbow. He started, but didn’t pull away as she dragged him to the entrance. “Act like you’re in pain or something,” she growled as they stopped in the shade of the building. It was a huge, imposing structure of dull grey metal and tinted glass. The Gaia Coalition members had on tinted glasses as well. 

 

Yama hunched in on himself as they came closer. Harlock glanced back once before going in, face revealing nothing as he entered the building. He turned just as quickly and was gone, doors closing behind him before Yama could get a good look at what was inside. 

 

“What business do you have?” A gruff, bulky man asked, stepping forward into Kei’s path. Yama glanced down and feigned pain. It wasn’t hard with how hard Kei was gripping his arm and the way his head was still pounding like a second heartbeat. The traces of alcohol in his system didn’t make it hard to sway, either. 

 

“I need some medicine for him,” Kei said, and Yama saw her free hand flick towards him. He chanced a glance up, hoping his face was contorted in pain enough for it to be passable. It was eerie to be able to look someone directly in the eyes without seeing where they were looking. The man could be recognizing his face as one of the escaped convicts of the Gaia Coalition’s big showdown from Earth, and Yama wouldn’t know until it was too late. 

 

“What’s the matter with him?” The man asked, shifting to one side. Yama slid a glance towards Kei.

 

“What’s the matter with him?” Kei asked, yanking Yama closer. On cue, he let out a soft groan of pain. “What do you think I am, psychic? That’s what I’m trying to figure out. My office burnt down a couple of days ago, and this idiot comes to me anyway wanting treatment.” Kei pulled out a small card that flashed bright in the pounding heat of the stars. She shoved it towards the man. “I’m registered, if that’s what you’re worried about. He doesn’t have his, though. Apparently idiots forget their ID’s in times of panic.”

 

The man’s unseeable eyes scanned the card without any noticeable reaction for several heartbeats in which Yama searched for a means of escape. He noticed the curious pin clipped on the man’s chest, an indecipherable character from a language Yama had never learned. Just as he started to wonder where it came from, the man handed the card back to Kei. “Fine,” he said and stepped to the side. His gun rattled, and Yama wanted to reach for his own, just to make sure he could defend himself, but he stopped himself just in time. Kei shuffled forward with him, and the other guard who had simply stood there while the first had taken their identity cards opened the door for them. Kei let out a miniscule breath as the door closed behind them, and suddenly they were bathed in almost chilly air and artificial light that was somehow harsher than the two stars outside.

 

Yama straightened up slightly and glanced over at Kei once more. “Now what?”

 

“Now we find you some medicine,” Kei said, and Yama nodded his head in understanding. So they were in charge with restocking the infirmary. It would likely be one of the higher security areas, and it would take them time to get enough time without any observers to loot the medicine supplies they needed. “Keep your head down,” Kei hissed. “You’re supposed to be sick.”

 

Yama complied, ducking his head down until they reached the door of the infirmary. It was sterilely lit and bustling with activity. No one looked at them as they entered, and Kei escorted Yama to an empty table. He sat down as Kei rummaged around the tray beside them, running hands over various sharp and dull instruments that gleamed with the look of well-taken-care-of metal. “Do you actually know how to work any of these things?” He asked. 

 

“Shut up,” Kei said picking up a slender cylinder that she clicked on and shone into his eye. Yama blinked at the bright light of the flashlight and turned his head quickly away as it caused his already pounding head to positively rend in two. 

 

“Could you turn that off?” He hissed. Kei smirked and shook her head. 

 

“We have to play the part.” Yama sighed and turned back, opening his eye wide enough for her to peer inside and tried not to think of the crippling pain as Kei shone the light in his eye for a few more moments. When she she was done, she set it back down and ran her hands over the instruments again. 

 

“Now what?” Yama asked.

 

“Now we wait,” Kei said, picking up his arm and taking his pulse. 

 

00800

 

Harlock spun around a corner and held his breath. Had he managed to make it past the men without them noticing? Yulian was somewhere distracting them, but one had looked strangely at him as he walked as casually down the hall as he could. Would he notice Harlock’s absence? Heartbeats of flutttering panic seated deep in his gut later, Harlock decided that it was safe to continue his way to the electrical room. 

 

The door was in his view when footsteps marched down the hallway. Harlock spun, eye searching frantically for something, anything--a door stood a few inches behind him to his left, and he quickly yanked it open, thanking whatever would listen that it was open. Not only would shooting the lock off with his laser sword take extra time that was better spent finding a place to hide, but the guards wouldn’t be blind. They may be idiots, but idiots have eyes, and with their amassed intelligence, they could perhaps come to the conclusion that he was hiding inside. 

 

It was dark and too quiet for comfort. Harlock extended a hand in front of him, blinking his eye wide in an attempt to see whatever was in the room. Several moments later, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could see the faintest outlines of various machines and bookshelves stacked against the walls. He let out a breath. No immediate danger, then. He turned back to the door and listened for the telltale signs that the soldiers were outside. A few moments later, he heard them, and Harlock reached underneath the indigenous cloak he had donned a few moments before leaving the ship and drew his sword, aiming it at the door. 

 

The soldiers passed a few moments later, and Harlock let out another breath, some tense knot in his stomach loosening, if not disappearing completely. He waited until the count of ten, when there was a lull in the sound he heard outside, and slowly turned the doorknob. Sticking his sword out first, Harlock warily peered outside, the bright light causing him to wince.  _ Whose fucking bright idea was it to make this place so goddamn bright? _ He groused. 

 

Not that it would matter a few moments later. He could see the door he was looking for right down the hall, with the brightly colored symbols painted on. He checked once more behind him, making sure that there wasn’t another set of patrolmen on his heels, and then made a dash for the door. This one was locked, but since they wouldn’t see anything in a few minutes anyway, Harlock shot the handle of the door and kicked it in. The noise was loud enough to draw everyone from four corridors away to them. With the urgency of that thought driving him forward, Harlock searched the mess of electrical wires and various blinking lights for the source of power for the entire thing. 

 

A few minutes of frantic searching--every few seconds casting a quick glance at the door--and Harlock found a wire that was thick, multiple wires that all coalesced into one thick rope that hooked into the wall. Harlock yanked it out of the wall, and everything went dark. For a moment, it was disconcerting. There was a moment of complete darkness, and then a few moments later, green-hued light lights flickered to life and somewhere a screeching alarm began going off. 

 

_ Perfect _ , Harlock thought, grinning, and made his way to the door before they came to investigate the sudden loss of power. He was to head towards where they kept the food. Harlock spun around a corner, narrowly missing a group of guards and paused, closing his eyes. Based on his location, he had to go down the corridor to his right and make the second left, and he would find himself in the stockpiled food. Harlock frowned, second-checking the mental map he had etched into his memory a few moments before they left. One wrong turn could cost him his life. It was better to take a few moments now than to waste precious seconds and minutes backtracking later and out in the open. 

 

Nodding, Harlock launched himself to the right and flew down the hall as quickly as his feet would carry him. Two guards appeared out of nowhere. Harlock quickly raised his sword and fired as they shouted and began rushing him. They both fell, but the noise would attract others. Harlock cursed them as he stepped over their bodies and took the left corridor.  _ There. _ At the end of the hall, there was a set of double doors with a ‘stop’ symbol painted over them, and Harlock shot through the lock as he reached them. 

 

He could hear shouts down the hall and turned briefly to look as a group of eight armed Gaia Coalition members rounded the corner.  _ Too soon. _ “Shit,” Harlock muttered, throwing the door open and spinning around it so that the metal would cover him; and not a moment too soon. 

 

Shots dented  the metal, stinging Harlock’s arm in a place where he failed to move away in time. He slammed the door behind him and looked wildly around. Some thankfully idiotic person had laid a spare plank of wood nearby, and he quickly shoved it between the handles to hold the door shut. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough for them to get the food and get out, hopefully. 

 

“Yulian,” he shouted. 

 

“Here, boss.” The portly man swung around a corner with a cart stacked high with boxes of food and other various supplies. Harlock let out a breath. This, at least was going according to plan.

 

“Do you have a way out?”

 

“You’re standing in front of it,” Yulian said, turning the cart towards it. 

 

“Shit,” Harlock said again. “There’s eight Gaia Coalition outside. Yulian grinned, eyes invisible behind the glint of his tinted glasses. He looked decidedly deranged in the moment. 

 

“Good thing I brought this, then,” he said, lifting a high-powered automatic rifle off of the tray. Harlock smiled grimly. 

 

The pounding on the door started, causing the wooden placeholder to bend and groan dangerously. “Get ready,” Harlock ordered, crouching behind a stack of boxes and setting his sword atop the pile. Yulian did the same, crouching somewhere to the left of the food. Another bang, and the board had almost cracked in two. It took two more hits, which had Harlock’s blood pumping in his veins like liquid fire and his foot supporting most of his weight shaking from anticipation and adrenaline. 

 

When they finally broke through, it was only mere seconds before the first three were gunned down, and another two went before anyone reacted. Harlock ducked to get away from the first volley of shots that dappled the air a good three inches above his head. He got two more shots in, one hitting a leg and the other going wild in his haste, and Harlock cursed, ducking down again and turning his head to look at Yulian, who had gathered his bravery and fired a few more shots. Another went down. 

 

_ Two left. _ Harlock resurfaced, squeezing off as many shots as he could within the few seconds he allowed himself. He heard a cry of pain, but it wasn’t cut off, and he cursed himself again. Two he had shot non-lethally, now. He needed to practice.  _ Or no more distractions _ .    

 

“Yulian!” He shouted. “Get the food, I’ll shoot them.”

 

Yulian nodded and darted out of hiding, cringing away from the immediate bullets. Harlock took advantage of their distraction and aimed at the one in the front, a tall man who had one of those ridiculous masks on that was supposed to provide them with some atmospheric filtering--due to the lower quality of air on this planet. He went down, and by the time the other one had the sense to shoot at him, he was falling as well. 

 

“Come on,” Harlock called, motioning Yulian forward. “We need to leave before any more come. If we’re lucky we can just walk out if we put our weapons away.” Yulian skirted dead bodies, and Harlock lead him and the cart out of the room. They turned a corner, Harlock glancing around it first. He oriented himself and directed Yulian in the right direction. A few harrowing minutes later--where each corner was a possible group of soldiers would recognize them and shoot them, but the few people they passed didn’t give them a second look. 

 

They made it to the front doors without incident. The guard--different than the one who had let him in--stepped forward to block their path, and Harlock felt his heart leap into his throat. The Gaia Coalition soldier didn’t look on edge at all, and Harlock forced his limbs to remain loose, easy. He even managed to twitch his lips up in some sort of smile that probably didn’t look all that pleasant. 

 

“ID, please?” The guard asked, and the boredom was clear in his voice. Oh, this would be too easy. Harlock extended the plastic thing Kei had passed out to all of them before they departed. 

 

“Just coming to pick up some food,” Harlock said, and it came out almost non-strained. He was usually better at this. Yulian remained silent as the guard squinted at the key card and then back up at Harlock. 

 

“Why so much?”

 

Harlock shrugged. “What can I say,” he said. “I have a big family.”

 

The guard squinted at him for another moment and then sighed. “Carry on.” Harlock inclined his head in gratitude and grabbed his ID back, motioning to Yulian to follow him. The other guard even held the door open for them to leave. 

 

They made it back to the ship without incident, and started it up. Before too long, they were leaving the atmosphere of that unbearably hot, bright planet behind. Harlock flipped on the communication button. “Check in,” he said and paused, waiting for the other ships to respond. 

 

“Yattaran and Zero approaching ship, sir,” the crackly voice sounded. Harlock made a sound of affirmation. 

 

“I’m alright, just taking off,” Miss Matsu chimed in, and Harlock nodded. 

 

“Captain,” Kei said, and the knot that had been tied up in Harlock’s stomach loosened infinitesimally. The four ships had gotten off of the planet without incident. Harlock was almost shocked that it had gone according to plan--“I’m taking off, Captain, but there’s a problem.” It was only then that Harlock heard the coiled tension in her voice. He had known Kei long enough to discern that something was wrong just by the tone of her voice. He gripped the edge of the console and felt the knot pull all the tighter.

 

“What is it, Kei?”

 

“They have Yama.” This was like a punch to Harlock’s gut.

 

“What?” He hoped desperately that he had misheard. 

 

“I can’t explain right now,” Kei said, and it sounded as if she had moved away from the microphone and was shouting. “I have some Gaia coalition on my ass! I’ll meet you back at the ship captain.”

 

The wait had to be the worst party. Harlock paced the cramped space, hands gripped together behind his back, so hard that he could feel the lack of blood in his fingertips. Yulian watched him. “There must be a mistake,” he said after a few minutes of Harlock’s pacing and tense silence. 

 

Harlock considered snapping at him, but he didn’t see the point. His heart pounded wildly.  _ They had Yama.  _ Who had Yama? The Coalition? If that was it, then-- _ fuck,  _ this was exactly what he had tried to stop from happening--well, then they were all screwed.  _ That goddamn, stubborn son of a bitch. _ It sounded nearly panicked, even in Harlock’s mind. Harlock eventually made a noise that didn’t neither confirm nor deny Yulian’s statement. 

 

The moment they reached the ship and the door slid open, Harlock was sprinting from the open door and down to the bridge. He would find out exactly what was happening and he would fix it, because that’s what Harlock did. He couldn’t let anyone slip away from him who was party of his crew-- _ least of all Yama. _ No matter what bullshit he told himself, he cared about the fucking idiot, and there was nothing he could do at this point to stop that. And of course, he had to get him back. 

 

Kei’s ship was closing in fast, three smaller ships following and raining fire down onto the ship. Kei was managing to dodge the fire, but she wouldn’t last long. There was too much coming too fast. “Tochiro!” He shouted. The ship responded almost instantly, whirring to life. The cannons roared to life, creaking like bones, and a few moments later, there was the shudder and boom of fire from their own ship. The cannons quickly disposed of the enemy ships, and Kei landed safely. 

 

“Come to the bridge immediately,” Harlock said across the communication channel the moment the doors closed. The bridge was silent, devoid of its usual crewmates, and Harlock put a hand on the helm, allowing himself a sigh and for his shoulders to slump forward. What would they do now? How had they gotten into this tangled mess in the first place?                  

 

Harlock looked up as the door to the bridge opened and Kei walked on. 

 

“Kei,” Harlock said, pulling himself back into his usual posture. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“Everything was going well,” Kei said, joining him up by the helm. She hadn’t taken off the clothes they’d all put on for the raid and was sweating. She looked frantic, something that Kei rarely looked, and he had the urge to calm her down, but it was a vague, distant urge. Right now, he needed to know what happened to Yama. “We had all of the medical supplies and we were out of there, and then Yama said something about forgetting penicillin. He started going back. I tried to stop him, Harlock. I tried so hard, I threatened to shoot him in the leg but he just ran back--” 

 

She cut herself off as her tone escalated in both speed and pitch. Kei swallowed, one hand reaching out. It shook before it rested on the steering wheel.

 

“I tried to follow him and then a swarm of Gaia Coalition came. I had to leave him. I did the right thing, didn’t I, Captain? I had to get the medicine for the ship--”

 

“It’s alright, Kei, it wasn’t your fault,” Harlock said. He covered her hand with his own for the briefest of moments before pulling back. “Was Yama alive the last time you saw him?” He asked, trying to make the question sound casual. It shook a bit coming out, but that was a great improvement from how he felt. Everything inside of him was chaos. His mind was scattered, party of it screaming at him to take a ship and just blow up the whole damn place, the other already devising a dozen different plans to get Yama out and the third was sobbing quietly in the corner, almost indiscernible in and amongst the rest of the chaos.  _ This is what happens when you care, _ it screamed at him and he flinched at the words.  _ You break everything you touch. _ He shook that voice off, and faced Kei, trying to concentrate enough to hear her answer. 

 

“They dragged him out, and he was shouting at them,” Kei said. That’s the last thing I heard before they started shooting at me.”

 

Harlock let out a shaky breath, trying to calm his mind. It was finally picking up from that panicked, frozen state it had been in ever since Kei had checked in.  _ This was bad _ . Usually, Harlock could get his mind working correctly in just a few minutes, but this was a complete and utter shock to him. “Good, that’s good.” 

 

“Captain, what are we going to do now?” Kei asked, running a hand across her forehead. 

 

Harlock opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he was going to say, but before he could utter a single syllable, the windows that usually lent everyone on the bridge a very broad view of where they were going lit up with an incoming message alert. Harlock raced to the controls and accepted, fingers shaking over the buttons. He drew in a deep breath and looked up at the screen as it turned white and then resolved into three figures. Harlock fought to keep his expression neutral. 

 

Two white-clothed figures had a struggling Yama in their grasp. The man’s head was down, hair covering his face, and the sudden disconnect of all of it hit him like a hammer. Just a few hours ago, he was carrying Yama up to a dingy hotel room that smelled of vomit and liquor with that same hair brushing his arm in a sweetly torturous rhythm. The biggest problem had been deciding whether or not to let Yama into his heart. Now, there wasn’t a chance of either, not if he didn’t figure out what the hell was going on and fix it quickly. 

 

“Yama,” he said, backing up so that he could see Yama’s entire face. The man twitched and Yama glanced up slowly. A line of blood slowly traced its way down the good side of his face, and his eye was squinted, lips pressed together. “Yama, are you alright?” Of course he wasn’t. He was in the custody of the only people that they had been fleeing for months now. He was bleeding. 

 

Yama grunted, and it was loud and crackly over the speakers. “Never been better.”

 

_ The goddamn sarcastic bastard, _ Harlock thought, half fondly. “Of all the fucking idiotic things you could have done,” he said, crossing his arms. “Why didn’t you just leave the penicillin?”

 

“There’s a high chance we could catch something that can be cured by penicillin by this planet,” Yama said, shifting and casting a scathing look at one of the men who held him down. “I didn’t want us to have to make another stop.”

 

“Well,” Harlock said, “you fucked that up.”

 

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry, Harlock.” Yama looked back up at him and Harlock could see the silent plea in his eye.  _ Dammit, did he really think that they would just leave him? _

 

“Enough chit-chat,” a voice said, off screen. Harlock tensed up, watching the edge of the screen.  _ No, no, no. Not him, never him. _ ___Never again._ A moment later, a man dressed in black appeared on the screen and Harlock’s stomach plummeted. There was no mistaking it now. “It’s time you and I make a deal, Harlock.”

 

Keeping his face perfectly blank through an exertion of his entire will, Harlock inclined his head. “Keaton Oliver,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the displeasure of laying eyes on your ugly mug.”

 

“Oh, I love how you compliment me, Harlock.” Thin lips peeled back, and black, soulless eyes sparked in some sort of demented glee. He took a step to the side, and placed a hand on Yama’s shoulder, giving it a few much-too-hard pats. Harlock’s hand twitched towards his sword. “Let’s have a little chat, just like old times, eh?”

 

“What, one where I’m in chains and you’re prodding me with that damned sword of yours?” Harlock asked, folding his arms. 

 

“Ahh, the good old days,” Oliver said, giving Yama’s hair a ruffle. Harlock’s fingers curled into fists as Yama jerked his head away and  _ growled _ at the man, like a caged animal. “No, unfortunately we don’t have time for that. I’m on a schedule,” he said, grinning and tapping his watch. His hairless head was tilted to the side, light gleaming off of it. “I have to report back to the general by the end of the day or else I’m out of a job, and well, Harlock, if we’re being perfectly honest, I like my job.” His grin somehow was worse than a snarl. 

 

“I’m sure you do,” Harlock said, heart pounding in his throat. Oliver could kill with a smile and torture with a grin. Over his century of exploring the galaxy, he had only met one person who truly scared him, and Oliver was that person. Of all of the people who could have captured Yama, he was the worse. This situation had gone from hell to just being fucked over, and Harlock wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

 

“I propose a trade,” Oliver said, and he looked down at Yama, eyes turning darker with some sort of twisted lust, and Harlock felt bile rise in his throat. He had been the receiver Oliver’s attentions before, and he knew exactly what he was thinking. From the sly glance Oliver sent his way the bastard  _ knew. _ This was a scare tactic, and whoever was in charge of this operation knew that. Harlock felt something twist in his gut. It was working, but he couldn’t let them see that it was working. 

 

“A trade?” Harlock made the words very eloquent. 

 

“You for this pretty little morsel,” Oliver said, turning that cold gaze back to Harlock. Even though they were thousands of miles apart, Harlock could feel it piercing him to whatever little bit of soul he had left. 

 

“Oh?”

 

“You have twenty-four hours to turn yourself in, and I’ll maybe let him go if you cooperate,” Oliver said, and started to walk away. 

 

“What, no room for negotiation?” Harlock casually asked, but in reality, he depended on this. If he could get just twelve more hours, then maybe he could get something, but not in only twenty-four hours. 

 

“None,” Oliver said, just before leaving the frame. 

 

Yama glanced up once more, looked straight at Harlock. “Harlock,” he said, and the word was so eloquent. Fear making it shake, a plea, so much more.  _ Damn it,  _ Harlock thought. Did Yama not realize who he was dealing with? He should be careful, very careful. Oliver would fixate on small, little weaknesses and wheedle them open until they were gaping wounds that would break Yama’s mind. 

 

“Everything will be fine,” Harlock said, trying to give as dispassionate of a smile as he could. “Don’t worry, Yama.”

 

“Isn’t this touching,” Oliver said off screen, scorn filling his voice, and Harlock narrowed his eye. “Twenty-three hours and fifty-eight minutes, Harlock. Tick tock.” The screen went dark. 

 

Harlock didn’t move from his position looking out at the planet that was supposed to be just a routine stop off. Now, it had turned into hell. Yama was in the hands of perhaps the only adversary that was actually a real threat to Harlock, and it wouldn’t take the man very long to figure out how Harlock felt about him. 

 

Left with a sort of helplessness and a resounding emptiness, Harlock looked back at Kei with empty, hollow eyes. “What do we do now?” He asked. Kei didn’t answer him, and he could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes. 

  
00800

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, on that depressing note, let’s end this chapter. Let me know what you think,I have literally no clue what I’m doing or where this is going to end, but I swear this isn’t going to drag on much longer. One, maybe two more chapters and none as depressing or smut-less as this one. (And I will get it/them out sooner, I promise. Gah, I’m so terrible with consistency.) Thank you for reading! I enjoy reading your comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I’m not really sure what I think of this. It’s kinda short but I just feel like this is the best place to end it. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. This is, indeed, going to be more than a one-shot.  
> Anywho! Thank you for reading and I’m looking forward to your reviews. Lots of love! XOXO


End file.
